Through Hell and High Water
by ZeldaNut1
Summary: Jonah has returned, reincarnated by Matt himself. Pasts are dredged up and secrets revealed, the truth behind the boy with blue eyes is far more dire than expected. Is a gilded cage the key to it all? Or does the final truth lie with a tiny wheel chair? "Will you stay with me?" "Through Hell and high water, my friend." Rated M for: Violence, abuse, gore, substance abuse, language
1. Chapter 1: Prolouge

_**Monochrome**_

Matt

Matt's whole life had been in black and white. Good days and bad days. Good days were days in which he felt almost like an actual human being. His bones and skin didn't ache as bad, his mind was sharp and clear. And then there were the bad days. Bad days were defined by pain, hot flashes and vomiting. By a drop in morality, creativity, optimism, and most of all, humanity.

But then there were days that stood out in vivid Technicolor. Days like his first kiss, the first day he met Wendy, the first day his dad came home drunk, the birth of Mary, losing his virginity. Finding out he had cancer. They all stood out in the parade that was his life.

But there was one day that exceeded them all.

The day Matt's life ground to a shuddering halt. The day his life stood still. White enveloped everything after the fire, except for maybe the blue.

Jonah

Jonah's whole life had been in black and white. The living and the dead. The people in his life who were among the living were all rather remarkable. His mother was a saint, his father….was a mystery. The librarian, the girl by the creek and the fortune teller were all such major parts of his life they all almost surpassed the dead. Almost, for the dead were everywhere. His life was defined by the constant stream of fresh bodies in the morgue, by the ghosts in corners and in his head. They surpassed the living, and were everywhere. And while life is a rare and fragile thing, death is sure as breathing. And all eventually succumb to death.

Even Jonah.

But there was color. It came in little streaks, vivid and jarring against the morbid canvas of his life. Fast and fleeting, like the birth of his sister, the death of his mother, his first contact with the dead. The first day his father abused him. The day he died.

But there was one day that exceeded them all.

The day Jonah's feeble existence in this world ground to a standstill. The one day he ever felt truly alive. Black enveloped him after the fire, and his journey into eternity lay before him.

Or so everyone thought. No one suspected their worlds were about to become all color. No more grey, no more in-between.

**No more questions, no more time.**

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

**Please review and tell me what you think. This is only the intro, do you all want more? I'm sorry I was from the fandom so long, my computer exploded under unfortunate circumstances. im planning on more HiC fics to come. This will be a multi-chapter fic if people wish me to continue.**


	2. Chapter 2: Commercial Life

_Blue. Velvet and clear like morning, they can see your soul._

_Crackling, snarling. Burned vocal chords can't speak. Black, then white. Burned, back to paleness._

_A thin delicate hand reaching through the bars of a gilded cage._

"Matt? Are you paying attention?"

I awake from my daydream with a start. My English teacher glares at me a moment longer, and then turns back to the board. These moments of me spacing out seem to be happening more and more lately. They tend to feature the events that happened in Connecticut, but my psyche has been coming up with new things lately, such as the picture of a cage. I don't understand what it means. I scrub my face tiredly and resign myself to working on my paper. I'm terrible at expressing my feelings. It didn't help that Mrs. Kirkner was a grumpy old lady who hated me and my teenage guts. It amazes me how a woman who hates young people so much became a teacher. The bell rings, signifying the end of the school day. I get up slowly and groan my back stiff. I stretch and about every bone in my body pops. Mrs. Kirkner won't let us leave before handing out homework, which is cruelty beyond comprehension in my opinion.

Once I'm on the bus I look out the window and try to tune out those around me. I watch the bright, tropical scenery of Florida whizz by my window. Sometimes I catch myself missing the cold rainy days Connecticut seemed so fond of. I miss 5 feet snow in winter, crowded town markets in summer, the safety of my hoodies. I even miss the drafty old house I lived in. we moved to Florida because it's what we so desperately needed at the time. We needed a change after Connecticut, something to brighten up our lives. So we moved to Florida, a place where it hardly ever rains and the sun never truly stops shining. We now live in a huge suburb, in a house that looks rather identical to the houses around it. Its difference from the rickety old white house in Connecticut is so shocking its jarring. At first I loved the change, reveled in it. I stopped thinking about the incident altogether and immersed myself in school. But now I keep getting dreams, random thoughts that'll pop into my head. Maybe I'm just homesick for my best friend, the only person who truly ever knew me.

The bus stops at my cookie cutter house and I walk in, plopping my bad on the table. I immediately get reprimanded by my mom, so I then chuck it into my room. I kick off my chucks and head back into the kitchen, where mom is humming happily while doing dishes. My mom seems happier than ever here in this commercial place. She was so rattled at first that she just didn't know what to do. So my dad took initiative, bought us a new house and he got a new, very well-paying job as physics engineer. Mom also has a small job now giving piano lessons and babysitting. She does it to keep busy, because lord knows dad makes enough money. Wendy and Mary are no longer living with us. Wendy's mom (my aunt) decided after the Aickman incident that she was going to get her shit together and take care of her babies. So she dumped her douche of a boyfriend, got clean and started taking care of Wendy and Mary. Wendy was a little skeptical at first, but now their bonds have been healed. I miss having Wendy around a lot; she was the only other kid my age I could relate to. But she stayed in Connecticut (although in a different town) with her mother and Mary while I flew here to be freed from my burden.

I don't think we'll ever go back to Connecticut. We no longer have any links there. With my cancer gone, Goatswood Hospital is no longer needed. And my family is clearly adamant about NEVER going back. Although I would like to see the reverend again, the last time we talked was in the airport. We spent two days after the fire holed up in his house as media ran everywhere. We spent long enough to make plans and then left for good. I miss Popescu to the point of pain. I hate knowing he's a sick man in pain, with no one to take care of him. I would love to go back and visit him. His body may be old, but his bright hazel eyes held such youth and intelligence, you would think he was my age. Yes, I would love to talk to him. But we both know that a phone call means we're in trouble.

As we sit down to dinner, me, mom, dad and Billy and take hands without a word.

"Matt, would you like to say grace?"

I'm always the one to say grace now. I guess if they come from a former cancer patient it makes them more effective. I say grace, and we all settle down. Billy and I talk about our days at school, Dad talks about work, Mom talks about the kids she's teaching piano.

"There's this girl at school who likes me…"

"I have to write a paper about the worst moment of my life." I say

"….And so this one jackass at work refuses to do his job…."

"She kept holding her hands wrong. Poor dear, I think she's only learning piano to please her parents."

Suddenly, the phone rings.

/\/\/\/\\/\\/\/\/\/\/\

**Cliffhanger! Phone calls mean trouble. PLEASE REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 3: Encounters of the Third Kind

All conversation stopped.

Eyes flitted back and forth passing over everyone at the table.

My heart skipped a beat.

I slowly got up, rising up from my chair in a daze. The walk to the phone seemed to take years. I picked it up, held it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Matt? It's Popescu. This may be nothing, but I just passed by the old Aickman house, and felt some…..odd stirrings. Are you all right, dear boy?"

My hand goes slack; the phone drops out of my numb hand.

Whispers in the dark, nightmarish dreams of the past and the present melding. Gorgeous blue eyes and velvet darkness, funerals and flowers. Blood and fire. My mind has been running non-stop lately; I should have recognized the signs. Something's about to happen. Something big.

I can feel it.

**Jonah **

_Seems that I have been held, in some dreaming state_

_A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake_

_No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber_

_Until I realize that it was you who held me under_

_-Blinding, Florence+ the machine_

**Well, this is interesting. What is this, a disturbance? I can feel it. Somebody, another medium, is passing by my house.**

**I reach out with my energy, try to make contact. His aura feels familiar. Soft, worn into a soft cotton-y texture from years of hardship. Warm and fuzzy, it has the color and texture of golden caramel. I would recognize that aura anywhere, its Reverend Popescu! Such a good man, if there ever was one.**

**I wonder if he knows I'm still here. I wonder if anyone knows I'm still here. My existence is a stubborn one, caught here in the limbo between life and death; it seems I still have some unfinished business to attend to before I make my way into eternity.**

**I feel the reverend stop, his warm grey eyes, so unlike my fathers, piercing through the wood and metal of my house right to meet mine.**

**Please. Help me. Get Matt, anybody, please help me! Help me, I'm still here!**

**I'M STILL HERE! **

Popescu

My mind is reeling, flashing pictures, voices. I can feel something touching my soul. Something is here, with me. Where am I? Oh, I'm in front of the Aickman house.

Oh.

OH.

Was…..was Jonah trying to contact me? Just now? I closed my eyes, feeling the world around me with the senses afforded me in this cancerous body. I feel something small and warm niggling at my soul.

Something small and blue, fluttering like a bird in my head and in the corner of my eye.

Help me, it asks in a small, thin voice. The bird seems so delicate, so fragile. Without thinking, I embrace it.

I get the sudden urge to call Matt. As I walk to the nearest phone, away from the house, I feel my mind clear of the haze. Something is happening.

Something big.

I can feel it.

/\/\/\\/\/\/\/\/\/

**And the tension begins to mount! We also hear from Jonah in this chapter. This story will be from many different people's POV's, but every POV will be in first person.**

**As always, plase R&R! This is the last chapter I'm posting until someone reviews (someone besides Miriam, sorry love. Do review though!)**

**I need to know if my readers are interested! And if I havent mentioned, this story is dedicated to Miriam (Jo Nahamanaick) and my best frind Ashley ^-^**


	4. Chapter 4: Musings of a Teenage Survivor

The next day found me and my family packed into our old station wagon, carving our way to Connecticut. It had taken a lot of pleading to convince my parents that the need to go back was urgent. I HAD to go back. I could feel it in my soul that something was wrong. Lately, all I had been thinking about was the house, the fire, and Jonah. God, Jonah. He was this hybrid, this mix of my despair and my hope all rolled into one snarling, burned entity to protect me at night.

Jonah had been the personification of my mind while I had cancer. Many a time had found me huddled under my blankets, shaking in my sweatpants as the door to the mortuary rattled dangerously. And as I lay there, curled up and terrified, Jonah had stayed with me, crouching at the foot of my bed, staring at the door with an expression that read "just try and touch him, I dare you."

He had protected both my mind and body during the ordeal that was the spirits revolting. In return, I was to help him burn the house down. I hadn't expected to get so attached to the burned medium. At first, ours was a timid, awkward relationship of me invading his space and working as his own personal medium while he protected me and my family. But, it evolved into a strong bond. He was my best friend, he understood me. Our souls were irrevocably intertwined. I had seen inside his soul, and he into mine. We were desperate, raw and bleeding. Therefore, our bond was stronger than anything the world had ever seen.

_On that day of the fire, in which I finally fulfilled Jonah's need for reconciliation with the spirits of the house, I and Jonah were forced to say goodbye. Here, in our last final moments of privacy, Jonah extended a burned hand to me. I took it without hesitation, feeling the crispy ashes crunch slightly in my hand. He smiled at me; the pearly white of his teeth an extravagant contrast from the burnt blackness that was his face. Using my leverage I pulled him forward, wrapping my arms around his body in a tight hug. He gasped in shock, looking at me with wide blue eyes._

"_You're not scary or revolting at all, are you?" I whispered._

_His eyes began to water, and he rested his forehead against mine. I was content with staring into the brilliant blue of his eyes before the firemen came and pulled me out. As they dragged me out of the house, I fought furiously, screaming and reaching desperately for Jonah, my friend, the other half of my soul. He simply smiled, standing his ground. With that one smile I felt my cancer slip away. The last thing I saw was Jonah crying, his tears tracks washing away the ash and living streaks of bone._

He was why I needed to go back. Was he still trapped? I dream of cages and tears, of ashes and hollow bones. I know they are of Jonah.

_A slender white arm reaching through the bars of a gilded cage, long fingers outstretched. A mouth stretched open, unnaturally wide as he screams in desperation. Please, he screams. Please, I am still here. Help me, I am still here! But as his voice starts to crack from strain the door to the small dirt room closes, casting the room into darkness. The only thing to be seen is the electric blue eyes shining in the dark, the boy's soft, hitching cries echoing around the empty room as he hung, suspended in the air in his gilded cage._

I keep getting these visions more and more. Something is happening to Jonah, and I plan to find out what. I am on my way back. Wendy is looking after our house while we take the trip to Connecticut, and we'll be staying with the reverend.

I only hope we get there in time.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Hello here, readers! Eh, I posted this chapter any way, even tho there's been no reviews. I'm writing this for myself anyway ^-^

I realize this chapter is rather mushy, but I imagine Matt and Jonah bieng VERY close. They've seen each other souls, don't get much closr than that!

Plus its cute

Next chapter finds the Campbell's in Connecticut! Enjoy the story dears~


	5. Chapter 5: Talks with the Reverend

Sara

What is all this about? After the reverend called Matt went berserk, yelling stuff about Jonah and cages and fire and bodies and MOM WE HAVE TO GO BACK NOW and that's how we all got here, stuffed into the car and driving back to Connecticut. Honestly, I am more than a little annoyed at Matt's behavior. But, it must be important to him. I know him and that dead boy, bless his soul, had been very close. Matt never did get to say goodbye.

I look in the mirror at the backseat. Matt is passed out against the window, wrapped in his favorite blanket and mumbling in his sleep. Billy is knocked out cold beside him, cuddled up to his brother's warmth. I smile. My beautiful, beautiful children. They are the light of my life. During our term in Connecticut I was so terrified of losing them; even to think of going back has got my blood turning to ice. But if it means so much to Matt, we have to. The poor dear seemed ready to break down and cry when I and Peter had begun to say no. I look over at my husband, so different and changed after Connecticut. We share understanding smiles.

I hope this ordeal is over with soon.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

"Matt dear, wake up."

I wake to find my mom holding the car door open and the reverend standing in the front porch of his house. It's a small redbrick thing, with a tiny chimney and white shutters. And there's the reverend, all smiles and wrinkles. I bolt out of the car to sweep Popescu in a big old hug. He feels fragile to me, all bones and saggy skin. His eyes are bloodshot and he's weak and shaking from yet another round of useless chemotherapy. But he smiles all the same and hugs me back as hard as his arms will allow, and he's got tears in his eyes and he's saying "Oh Matt, I missed you"

"I missed you too, Reverend."

While my Dad carries in our few bags and my mom rouses Billy, me and the Revering catch up.

His cancer treatment is doing fine, although he's weighing the pros and cons of just letting the cancer take its course. Sometimes he says, dying seems easier than going through the chemo again. I smile sympathetically; I know what he's going through. Some days it's easier just to give up. But I give him the usually reasons. Your kids and your grandkids need you. Your congregation needs you. I need you. He agrees, like he always does, and the conversation shifts to just what does he think is happening in the Aickman house?

"I don't know how to describe it," begins Popescu, "I was just walking by, on my way to the library. And I felt this overwhelming feeling of hopelessness come over me. I turned to look at the house, and I swear I could feel him staring right into my eyes. I felt him fluttering at the edge of my consciousness, and I heard him ask for help, and to go get you. Next thing I know, I'm standing outside the public library, on the payphone and dialing your number."

"That is so weird!" I exclaim, "I myself have been having dreams.."

"Of?"

"Jonah, being trapped. It's usually just flashing images. Fire, bodies, Aickman, this girl, and a cage…"

"A cage? That's odd."

"Yeah, I don't know what it means. Maybe Jonah's trapped?"

Before the reverend could answer, my mom came out.

"Are you boys going to eat anytime soon?"

We headed in, where a feast of sandwiches awaited us.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The reverend's house was beautiful in its simplicity. It consisted in colors of cream, beige and brown. The living room had two small cream couches crowded around a small wooden coffee table. Above the mahogany mantelpiece hung a picture of Popescu, his wife, and his two kids when they were young. On the mantle rested pictures of his grandkids, pictures of his congregation, sepia photos of his parents, and a small wooden cross. Thy hall somehow managed to squeeze around the small kitchen table, mismatched chairs pulled from all around the house provided seats. As the conversation sets in and the late meals gets underway, I can't help but notice the way Popescu's eyes flit all about the room, seeing things no one else can see, a look of anxiety tingeing his face at the amount of ghosts the small family had brought with them. Matt remembers the feeling

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Night found the Campbell's scattered around the Reverend's house, tucking in for bed. Mom and Dad had insisted on Popescu sleeping in his own bed (he is an old man with cancer, after all), while they sleep in his daughters old room, and Billy sleeps in his son's old room. I myself set up a cozy little kip on one of the cream couches, the cross sending a long shadow throughout the room. As I burrow down into the nest of pillows and blankets I had developed, a feeling of uncertainty and dread settled throughout my soul. What was happening? Is Jonah back? When the house began to burn and the spirits began to scream, I had resigned myself to never seeing Jonah again. We shared our goodbyes and tears. They dragged me out, put the fire out. But I never had seen what had happened to Jonah. I saw him there, all tears and bone and fallen ashes. I saw him be surrounded by the other spirits, the look of fear and anguish in those ethereal blue irises. It killed me to leave him. I was upset and hollow for months, remembering the way he clung to me right before the firemen came to take me away. What now? It took me so long to recover from losing him, the other half of my soul, and now I might see him again?

Is he still here? Has he been around this whole time? The thought of it makes me sick. He was still here and I hadn't noticed? He was such a huge fixture in my life during that year in Connecticut, that when it had been over I felt a hollow spot left behind from where Jonah had been. The ragged bleeding hole left behind ached for months, and I often found myself thinking of the boy, so like myself but at the same time almost a different species from me. We had spent every waking moment together. We shared stories and tears and blood. And to have him back again….It had taken that hole so long to heal, and I know returning to the house will rip it right open again.

Am I ready for this? I don't even know if he is still here.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

**Jonah**

**It's so very dark in here. I wish someone would come. Anyone would do, I am starved for attention. I've been trapped in this state for a long time, floating in-between eternity and the living world. It's hard, barely existing like this. With nothing to do, I relive my past day in and day out.**

**I miss my mother, my grand-mère, and my friends. I miss Matt, Wendy, Popescu…..**

**I am so alone. Stuck, here in the damned mortuary. I am now less than a ghost now, barely a presence on this earth. The fire weakened me so; I cannot even haunt people anymore! I feel them outside, walking on the sidewalk or driving past on their cars. The Reverend passes by every once in a while, but I don't think I ever managed to contact him.**

**I wonder where Matt has gone, since he's no longer here. I hope it's someplace sunny, like Florida. Someplace as different from Connecticut as possible. Sometimes I like to imagine his life. I like to think that he lives someplace sunny, playing sports and basking in the sun. He has many friends, and a girlfriend who loves him. I hope she's pretty, like my Anna was.**

**I wonder if he remembers me, if he ever thinks of me. I hope not, I wouldn't want to remember me. I am nothing, I barely exist.**

_**I never expected to have such a cowardly son, such a pansy! You can't even stomach the sight of blood. You are nothing, you hear me? You are dead to me. Nothing.**_

_**Yes, Father. I know.**_

_**Good. Now clean all this blood up! You can't even handle a whipping without crying! Pathetic, absolutely disgraceful!**_

_**Yes, sir.**_

**God, how I miss the sun.**


	6. Chapter 6: State of Matter

Monochrome Chapter 6: State of Matter

Hot rubber tiles melt into asphalt, running and congealing with the equally viscous road. Soon we travel along on nothing but the bare metal rims, stuck in the asphalt, unable to move at anything but a snail's pace. The sun in the sky mocks my slow travels, and my brain is screaming to go faster.

I can't, I'm not the one driving!

Me, my mom, dad, the Reverend and Billy are making our way to the Aickman house. And in my opinion, no speed would ever be fast enough. My brain, my heart and my soul are screaming at the need to be in the house at this very moment, but I can physically only go so fast. To be honest, the suspense is killing me. Something is moving, stirring the air, and I need to be in the house! I need to protect Jonah, I feel as if he is hurting. The hollow space in my soul where he used to be hurts, and I feel as if he too is also in pain. I feel trapped in this small car. I want to get out, to run down this street.

Goatswood, Connecticut. Peirce Creek Road. 5th house on the right, by the big oak tree. And we could not be getting there any slower. But as we get closer and closer to the looming white house, my heart beats faster and faster. I can feel the burning need for me to be there. I belong in that house. The oak tree looms ever closer, and as we finally roll to a stop outside the house I feel my heart suddenly calm. I get out of the car, my chucks padding through the soft grass. The house doesn't look much different to anyone, but I can see the difference. More paint is missing than before, the boards sag more than they used to. The house looks rather miserable, derelict in fact.

I missed it so much.

I look behind me, and find my family staring at me warily. The reverend walks up and puts his hand on my shoulder, gently steering me towards the door. I step up onto the porch. The reaction in the house is immediate. The porch perks up, the paint seems to brighten, and the shutters begin to shake. I feel my smile widen, and the reverends hand tightens on my shoulder.

"Well Matt, it seems he's happy to see you."

**Jonah**

**This hurts so badly. I don't know what to do anymore. I can't hold onto this world much longer. I can feel my grip slipping, my fragile fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slippery fabric of this world. I grow weaker by the day. Right now I'm snuggled between two boards in the floor, under the living room but not yet in the basement. It's actually rather comfortable. **

**Hm. Someone just pulled up in the driveway. I attempt to summon my spirit out of the floor, but I hurt so bad right now I can't even move. I shifting my aching bones and the boards groan along with the strain. As I settle back down, I realize with a start that their stepping on to the porch. I force all my energy into identifying who this is. His soul is a soft burgundy, rich and vibrant. It feels slightly coarse, like sandpaper, but in a good way. I let it rub down my mind and my spine, and I let it envelope me. He smells like cinnamon.**

**My eyes fly open.**

**It's him.**

**It's Matt.**

**He's here.**

**I pull myself out of the floor, dragging my protesting spirit towards the door. I smile graces my face and I feel the boards perk up in response. Tears cloud my vision as the door slowly creaks open. But I'm weakening, and I collapse to the floor, a few feet from the door. As the tears fall down and Matt enters the room, I give in to the tiredness and settle to the floor.**

**He's actually here!**

Matt

As I walk into the foyer, I can't help but feel as if there's something waiting for me. My family piles in ahead of me, my mom going into the kitchen, and Billy runs to the bathroom as if he's on fire. I slowly walk down the hallway. I feel his presence, but I don't know where he is. Ever since my cancer left me, I can't see spirits. So I tread carefully, watching and waiting for any signs. I'm wandering past the entryway to the living room when I catch a whiff of something. Sage, bitter coffee, tea, and a hint of something undeniably sweet. I stop dead in my tracks, my gaze turning to the living room. I can hear my mom in the kitchen, offering the reverend coffee while my dad complains at the condition of the house. Billy has the tap running upstairs. I walk cautiously into the living room. I linger a little ways into the room, a few feet from the front door. I'm walking when I feel a seeping cold incase my foot.

_**paincoldburningbonesache**_

Visions flit through my head. Pale hands, blue eyes. Burning, smoke clouding my vision as I scream and scream. Thin, fragile limbs incased in metal ribs, purple bruises and tear tracks. Breaking, snapping, aching. I gasp and grab ahold of the wall. I feel a faint hum there, as if the house is alive.

"Reverend."

He's immediately by my side, my mom standing in the doorway still holding a cup of coffee. He looks at the area in which I'm pointing, and his eyes go wide his breath hitches and he staggers back. I rush to him in alarm, supporting him as he stares at something I can't see. He walks forward, kneeling on the floor. His hand hovers over something only he can see.

Popescu

I kneel beside the gasping being on the floor, his blue eyes wide and scared as he stares up at me. I hold his shoulder, trying to offer him some kind of relief. His eyes widen as he grabs my wrist, small hand shaking.

**how can you touch me?**

"I'm closer to death than you think."

I feel Matt stiffen behind me.

"Are you talking to him?" Matt whispers.

"Yes," I answer, "and he's in terrible pain."

Jonah's struggle is terrible to watch. He's so very weak, barely a wisp of energy. Tears roll down his pearlescent cheeks as he shudders in pain. His grip on my wrist weakens and his hand, so much smaller than mine, falls to the floor. Tears cloud my vision as I too start to cry.

"Reverend? Reverend, what's wrong?" Matt is frantic beside me, unable to see what I'm seeing.

I gather the thin, fragile frame into my arms, hugging him to me gently as he cries into my shirt.

"Shh, Jonah, it's okay, we're here." I turn to look at Matt, gathering my nerves and swiping the moisture from my eyes. "Jonah is dying. He is already dead, but before he was powerful enough to not only interact with you, but possess you." I stop, brushing Jonah's hair out of his eyes and sighing. "Now, I'm afraid he's barely clinging to this world."

Matt looks traumatized, sitting beside me on the cold wooden floor.

"What can we do?"

"We need to find out what's keeping his spirit here, but first, to do that we have to strengthen him enough for him to help us find out why."

Jonah shifts in my arms, his gaze turning to Matt.

**matt?**

Matt gives a start, staring hard at the invisible bundle in the reverend's arms.

"Did you hear him?"

Matt nods, eyes wide. I gently shift Jonah's form into Matt's lap Matt sucks in a breath, lowering a hand to rest it on Jonah's side.

**i missed you**

"I missed you too, Jonah."

Matt

I can't see him, but I can feel him. His weight presses down on my lap, his coldness seeps through my clothes. I can feel tiny, fluttering breaths ruffling the hair by my ear.

He feels so very, very weak.

"How can I feel him?"

"It's because you two are so connected. Sara isn't able to see or feel him, while I can do both because I'm in the valley. You just seem to be an exception."

I feel him shift against me, a soft sound of pain reaching my ears. He was still hurting.

"Jonah, "I ask him "how are you?"

**better with you here**

"I believe being in your presence will greatly help in our endeavor with finding out why he's still here. Perhaps there is something still in the house?"

**will you stay?**

"Yes."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sara

I watch in awed silence as Matt continues to talk to something I can't see, his hands holding and supporting an invisible person, He looks deeply worried.

Jonah is dying. I don't see why the thought bothers me as much as it does. I truly hope we can save him, not only for his sake but Matt's as well. Reverend Popescu said something about trying to make Jonah solid again. He only appears substantial to the reverend and Matt, and to make any progress we need his help. I'm also going to ask Wendy if she wants to help, she did a brilliant job of researching in the past.

I have a theory of my own. I don't think that Jonah has any 'unfinished business', I think he is the unfinished business. If I remember correctly, the child went through a lot of pain in his life. Maybe he just needs someone to recognize his struggle.

Matt is standing now, cradling Jonah in his arms, saying something about trying to make him more comfortable. He carries him to Wendy's room, tucking him in under the covers.

The covers drape around and invisible shape, an invisible head make a dent in the pillow.

I make the sign of the cross.

Oh, God, help us.

**Jonah**

**As Matt tucks me in, I can't fight it. I'm too damn weak. But he handles me with a care and gentleness that no one has ever showed me before. I sink gratefully into the mattress, tired of the exertion of communicating with living people.**

"Whoa, whoa! Don't sink through. Jesus, Jonah."

**He grabs my arm, pulling me out of the springs. I smile.**

**Sorry, I say, I'm just so, so tired. **

**Suddenly he's there, all frowns and worry. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. I reach up to wipe the hot tears from his cheeks. They feel strange on my fingers, the texture like silk yet they burn my skin. He smiles his trademark Matt smile, all crooked and awkward. It's watered down by his tears.**

**Please don't cry for me, Matt.**

"I can't help it."

**He's pouting a little. I scoot up in the bed, the muscles in my arms screaming at the fact that I'm making them work. I get out from under the covers. I'm shaking a little from the physical exertion. He rushes to me, one knee on the bed and a hand on my shoulder.**

"What are you doing?!"

**I grab his arm, pulling him closer. I slide my arms under his, locking them around his back. My legs are on either side of him, my head on his chest due to my short stature. I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat.**

**I've never hugged him before. It's nice.**

**At first he's frozen, unmoving beneath me. But then his arms tenderly snake around me, his chin resting atop my head.**

**I've wanted to give you one of these for a while, I state.**

"Me, too.** "**

**The hug is terribly awkward due to our height difference, but it's still the best hug I've ever received. As we break apart I apologize for my awkwardness with hugs.**

**Sorry, I haven't gotten many hugs in my lifetime.**

"Well then, we'll just have to fix that, wont we?"

**I nod.**

"You know that in the time I've been in here…you've gained….color?"

**I look down, and am shocked to see I'm ever so slightly visible. I'm barely there, really, but I'm no longer completely invisible.**

**He stands in front of me, and the smile is back in place. I feel an answering one spread across my face. He turns to leave, but he stops, and looks back.**

"Will you be okay without me?"

**My heart stops. NO!**

**Yes, I say.**

**He walks back towards me, takes my hand, and squeezes it. His hand completely engulfs mine, all tan and callous.**

"I'll be right in the other room if you need me."

**Okay. Okay, I'll be okay.**

Matt

As the door shuts behind me, I walk down the hallway, into the bathroom, close the door, and sink slowly to the floor.

The smell of sage and vanilla, of ashes and a cold dankness. A bitterness and a sweetness, all soft and slow and fragile.

He was what kept me from going insane. During the nights I laid in my bed screaming and thrashing, wanting nothing more than to end my pain. But there he was, a knee on my stomach and both arms holding me down. And as I yelled and punched and kicked at him, a symphony of crackling ashes and breaking bones, still he would hold me, his tears mixing with mine.

**I've got you**

And later, when it was over, we laid back to back. I could feel him shaking, sobbing quietly as he hugged his broken ribs closer. I felt bad, but also empty. His ashes and blood coated my hands. But he stayed. He stayed with me.

And therefore, we need the other.

When we were separated, I was in pain for months. My friends tried to comfort me, my girlfriend. But he truly was a part of me.

And now he's back.

His hands are tiny. They fit in my palm. His hair is thick and black and reeks of sage. It's soft as silk and tickles my chin.

His smile is too big for his face, all teeth and open.

His eyes tell not only his story but mine. We share a soul.

I dry my tears and walk down the hallway to the kitchen. I walk through their questions to the phone.

"_Hello?"_

"Dahlia."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/linebreak/\/\/\/\/\/\

Why hello faithful readers! Sorry it took so long to update,but my computer was broken and it just came back from being repaired. So here it is, the big chapter in which they meet again.

I'm going to start putting tidbits in as to Jonah's disease/condition. There were a few tiny ones in this chapter. Can you guess them? or better yet, his disease?

To The Somebody of Nobody: This chapter is for you :)


	7. Chapter 7: Phone Calls

Monochrome Chapter 7: Phone Calls

Dahlia

I sigh heavily, stretching tiredly and putting down the NES controller. Hyrule and the Princess must wait till I get something to eat. I groan as I haul myself up, stretching and hiking up my much too big sweatpants. I pad to the kitchen, passing my mom strung out on her bed, high as a kite. I rifle through what little food we have, stacking some lunchmeat and cheese on the counter. As I'm getting the bread from above the fridge the phone rings. I sigh and put everything down, passing my mom whose come out of multicolor hibernation to seek some food and whiskey.

"Don't worry, I'll get it." I say, as if she can actually hear me.

I walk to the phone and answer it.

"Hello?"

"Dahlia."

"Matt? Are you in Connecticut?"

"Yeah. I'm at the house actually, right now."

"Oh. How….how's everything?"

"Not good. He's here, but he's…"

"He's what?"

"Dying."

"I thought he was already dead?"

"He is, but now he's fading from this world."

"Isn't that a good thing? Him passing on?"

"Yes, no. I don't want to lose him."

I nodded. I knew what it was like to have someone you can't live without, be it lover or good friend. I knew my Matt couldn't live without knowing Jonah was okay.

"How is he?"

"In a lot of pain."

"Oh, that's terrible. Hey, I'm sorry…"

"It's ok. Listen, do you think you could come down here?"

"To Connecticut? What about mom?"

I shot a look to my mom, now curled up on the couch. Her hands shake from withdrawal, her coffee sloshes out of her cup.

"Ask Spooner if he can look after her."

I run a hand through my mousy brown hair, mussing it up even more. Spooner's been me and Matt's best friend since childhood. He's the only one of us that isn't too fucked up.

"Okay. Do you want me to pick up Wendy?"

"Um, yeah sure, if you don't mind."

"I don't"

"Okay. Thanks"

"Welcome."

"Hey, Double D?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

I pause, feeling the itch start to burn. I miss Matt so freaking much. He really needs help. I was there when he came back from Connecticut, back when his scars were healing and the sound of breaking bones haunted his dreams.

"I love you too, Matt."

I hung up first.

I trudged slowly to my room. My mom didn't even look up, too engrossed in the blank TV to pay attention to her daughter. I replaced my sweatpants with some cargos; put a tank top and a shirt on. I threw what little clothes I have haphazardly into a duffel, along with some toiletries and a wad of cash. I laced up my personalized chucks, fluffed my hair with my fingers. I walked into the living room, with its yellowing carpet and smoke-stained walls. I walked to the phone and dialed Spooner.

"Yellow, you've reached a Spooner bro. What is your purpose for calling me on a Saturday night?"

"Hey Spooner. Do you think you could come over and watch mom for a couple days? I'll leave food money."

"Dahlia, my favorite enforcer of crime. Sure, going somewhere?"

"Yeah, I'm going to go see Matt."

"Oh, okay! Tell him Spooner says sup."

"Kay, will do."

This time, I was hung up on.

I dial yet another number.

"Hello?"

"Um, hey Wendy, it's Dahlia."

"Oh, uh, hey!"

"Hey. Well, Matt wants me to pick you up."

"What?"

"I'm driving over to Connecticut to see Matt."

"Oh, okay! That'll be awesome! How is everyone?"

"Not very good, Matt sounded very upset the last I talked to him."

"Is he at the house yet?"

"Yes, he called me from there."

"Oh God. How's Jonah?"

"Dying."

I hear her suck in a breath.

"He's fading. When will you be here?"

"Within a day."

"I'll be waiting."

"Kay,"

"And Dahlia?"

"Yes?"

"It was great hearing you."

I smile. Wendy reminds me a lot of Matt in some ways, methodical, practical, and always calm.

"It was great talking to you to Wends. We'll catch up on the ride from Pennsylvania to Connecticut, yeah?"

"Yeah. Bye."

"Bye."

We hung up at the same time.

I exhale, loud and slow, staring at the phone. Then I grab my bag and I'm out the door.

I have a long drive ahead of me.

/\/\/\/\/\linebreak/\/\/\/\/\

I realize this chapter is terribly short, but it's a transition chapter. Next chapter starts on the next day and will be super long!

Well, you've met Dahlia, Matt's girlfriend. How is she to your liking?

The character Spooner is based off a real-life dude we call Spooner. He's a really awesome bro!


	8. Chapter 8: Theories and Reality

Monochrome Chapter 8: Theories and Reality

Wendy

Someone's knocking on the door. I groan and roll over in bed, drawing the blanket tighter around me. I glance at the clock. 6 AM. Leave me alone.

The banging grows incessantly louder. I burrow deeper.

"Jesus Christ, Wendy! Open the fucking door!"

There's nothing better in this world than to wake up at Dahlia Denvers cussing at you.

Oh, right! She's taking me to Connecticut! I barrel out of bed, throw on a robe and rush to the door. I throw it open to reveal a very pissed of Dahlia.

"It took you a damn long time!"

"Oh please Dahlia, be quiet!"

A few of my neighbors have migrated to the hallway to see who was screaming at such early hours of the morning. They stare at Dahlia with anger. She whirls on them, hands gesturing.

"What the fuck you lookin at? Mind your damn business!"

A middle-aged man brandishing a baseball bat approached Dahlia, mad as hell.

"Shut up with that mouth of yours, or I'll wallop you a good one!"

"Oh really?" Dahlia laughed, crossing her arms over her impressive chest. "I'll shove that baseball bat so far up your-"

I grab her arm before she can finish, pushing her into my apartment and slamming the door shut behind her. I apologize profusely to my neighbors, but they just grumble and return to their respective apartments. I walk into my apartment. Dahlia is sitting at the table, slumped in chair.

"Explain yourself."

"Those people starin at me like a damn alien!"

"Well, you were cussing to high heaven and its 6AM on a Saturday."

"Psht, whatever."

I can't help but smile at this. This is Dahlia, much too loud and extremely close. Sometimes I wonder how Matt can stand her, how anyone can stand her, but then she gives the trademark smirk and serves up another dose of her snarky humor. I honestly love this messed-up chick like my sister. And as she sits at the table, droopy eyed and about to pass out, I can't help but love the cussing bitch, right down to her nose piercing and purple-streaked hair.

"Dahlia, it's so good to see you."

She looks over at me, cocks her head and gives that mischievous smile of hers.

"Yeah right."

"No, really…"

Her smirk falls slightly, and she looks down, fiddling with the ties on her baggy cargos. She mumbles something.

"What was that?"

"Missed you too."

An awkward silence fills the air. I give her a quick look over. Dark bag under her eyes, tattered old shirt, and her hair hasn't been brushed in a while. She reeks of cigarette smoke and something else, sweet and cloying. Pot. She's huddled under one of Matt's old hoodies. I wonder if it's still managed to retain Matt's scent after all its time spent in Dahlia's care. I have to admit, out of all the things she's wearing, the hoodie is the most taken care of.

"Would you like to take a nap before we head out?"

She looks at me again

"Um, yeah, If you don't mind."

I smile. "Not at all."

I go to lead her to my room (the only bed in the house) when she suddenly veers towards my couch, kicking off her chucks before stretching out on it.

"You know, I was going to let you have the bed."

"I know. That's nice of you, but I bet you don't want your bed to reek of pot. Mom's been goin at it again, by the way. I don't think she's ever grounded."

At this she snuggles into the couch, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch over herself. A minute later her snores fill my apartment. I'm still speechless.

Matt

I had fallen asleep with one hand on the wall. The house contains Jonah's energy, and the house radiates a soft hum. It's like putting your hand on top of a washer during the rinse cycle. Last night it had been pretty steady, warm and purring like a cat. I'm sleeping in the room next to his. I can't hear anything, but hey, he is a ghost. It's a miracle I can hear him at all. I stretch luxuriously, bones cracking lightly. My hand has since left the wall. I sit up slowly, groaning at scratching my curls. My clock says it's only 7, which means it's much too early to be up. But my body has decided for me, and I get up and pad out into the hallway, bound for a glass of water. I turn to look at Jonah's door, white and innocent to the horrors it had seen in Jonah's short lifespan. Maybe I should check on his spirit, see how he's doing. But before I reach the door, the phone starts to ring. Oh, great. Just my luck. I instead walk down the hallway towards the stairs, passing Billy's old room where the Reverend's old frame is curled up under a ton of blankets. I quietly go down the stairs, into the kitchen and to the phone.

"Hello, this is the Campbell/Aickman residence. If you're a fanatic, hang up now before Jonah sends bad mojo at you. If you're a medium, I shall forward you to a necromancer named Ramsey who would love to dissect you. State your business."

"Wow Matt, somebody's tired. What about family?"

"Family gets free hugs from any one member of the household."

"Does Jonah count?"

"Well, I don't think he's up to it right now. It takes a lot of energy for him to become solid…"

"What?!"

"I'll tell you more about it when you get here. Speaking of which, has Dahlia stopped by yet?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on my couch right now. She drove all the way from Florida to Pennsylvania, can you believe it?"

"Yup, that's my babe for ya. When she wakes up tell her not to do that so often, her beauty's already maxed out."

"Aw, okay. Did I wake you up?"

"No, by why did you call so damn early?"

"Why were you up so early?"

"I don't really know…"

"How's Jonah?"

"Well, yesterday he was barely here, and I haven't checked on him yet today."

"Ok, well I'll let you go."

"Kay, love ya Wends."

"Love you too."

I hung up, sighing and leaning against the wall as I ran a hand through my curls. Everybody's coming. Wendy and Dahlia will be here, along with the Reverend, Mom, Dad, Billy and me. That's 6 people, where are we going to fit everyone? And what are we going to do when they all get here? I have no idea how to fix Jonah. I lift my head up staring at the familiar surroundings of the house. Something was missing….

The humming. The humming's gone.

My heart stops beating.

5

4

3

2

1

I'm running up the stairs, down the hallway and into Jonah's room. My eyes immediately fall to the bed. Here isn't anything there, not even the soft blue glow of him. No matter what, he always has the glow. Always. I scan the room frantically, searching for his glow or his body. I go to the bed, running my hands all over it. No cold spots, no liquid feeling. He's gone. Did I come too late? Was I not taking this seriously enough?

Did he already pass on?

I turn to the doorway, where my parents and Billy are gathered. The Reverend pushes though them, his soft grey eyes scanning the room.

I don't like the look of panic washing over them. He looks at me, a look of shock on his face.

"I don't see him, Matt."

Dahlia

Wendy woke me up about thirty minutes later than I wanted to sleep, but I guess I really did need it. Wendy's sitting next to me in the passenger seat of my old beat-up Sundance, reading a book peacefully as we zip along on the highway. He black hair hangs down, creating a curtain between her and the world. Matt's hair is curly too, I wonder if they got it from the same person. Some dickwad cuts me off and I give him the bird. I hear Wendy giggle lightly and turn back around to see her looking at me with bemused eyes. I snort and focus back on the road. Her curtain falls back down again. I wonder, while I defend myself against the world with rude gestures and a few choice words, she hides behind her hair, oblivious to the outside world. I wish I could be so carefree.

I notice the closer and closer we get to Connecticut, the tenser Wendy becomes.

Popescu

He's still here. I cannot seem to convince Matt of this though; the teen is positively frantic at the moment.

"His spirit has probably just retreated further into the house. After all, he did have a rather exciting day yesterday."

Matt pauses in his vigorous pacing to stare at me.

"What if he's not okay Reverend? What if he's passing or in pain?"

"It is true he is in pain and his spirit is fading," I reply, "but he cannot leave your side. That is why he is still on this earth."

"Then what are we supposed to do?! I don't even know why he's here. He's in pain, Popescu! How many times was he there for me? When I was curled up dying, in pain, he was there. Always. And now, in his time, I can't even take care of him."

I sighed, going to his tense form and hugging him gently.

"He's still here. I promise. He's probably just retreated further; Did you ever think maybe he doesn't want you to see him in such a weak state?"

Silence followed my statement. Suddenly, a cough came from the doorway.

"It's nearly noon, of you all want lunch." Asked Sara, shuffling her feet.

Sara

Matt's dependency on this child is really starting to scare me. I thought he had lost it this morning, him shouting and searching everywhere for any sign of the ghost. But I also realize that without Jonah, Matt would be dead. So Matt's panic is rather understandable. He sits at the table now, head on is arms. For some reason he always insists on setting at this one particular spot at the round table, facing the doorway. He's running his hands over the chestnut wood over and over possessively.

I begin dishing out the bowls of soup; everyone digging in hungrily all except for Matt, who continues to sulk.

The doorbell rings.

Thankful for the interruption, I run to the door, opening it to find a chipper Wendy and a tired looking Dahlia.

Ugh, Dahlia. At first I hadn't liked the girl at all, what with her bad attitude and her defiance. But honestly, she too is just another lost child. We still don't get along very well, but I must say after seeing her home life I can't hold a grudge against her. I still think he's all wrong for Matt, but they seem to have found common ground that Matt can't seem to find with anyone else. Wendy comes in first hugging me warmly and chattering away as she enters without worry. Dahlia, on the other hand, stands on the porch, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the step and ducking her head. I can't help but smile at this. She and Matt have the same nervous habits.

"You now, you can come in." I offer, trying to smile in a reassuring way.

She looks up at me, eyes guarded.

"Thanks."

She walks in, huge duffel in tow. She walks straight into the kitchen.

Matt's eyes light up. It's an extreme change from his last desolate mood.

I can't deny she makes him happy.

Matt

I can hear my mom at the door, and seconds later Wendy comes barging in, scooping up Popescu in a big old hug. The smile on my face doesn't last long however, my despairing mood coming back full force.

Until she walks in.

She looks gorgeous as always in her beat-up chucks and faded t-shirt, her brown-and-purple hair pulled back in a braid. I take in every detail of her, from the doodles on her chucks, her wife beater pulled into a duck tail, the tiredness in her dark green eyes, to the tiny lily tattoo on her shoulder.

All my worry disappears as she pulls me into a huge hug, my spine cracking as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. I grab her waist tightly, kissing her hard.

The Reverend coughs. As we part I squeeze her gently. Our hugs are always so rough, so passionate. She's so fiery, there's never a gentle mode for her, but sometimes I think that's why I love her. She's so full of life.

"So," she starts as she breaks away, "where's the kiddo I've been hearing about? "

And that's when my smile melts away.

"We've lost him."

Wendy gasps. "He passed?!"

The Reverend cuts in.

"Matt's overreacting, he's just hiding."

"Oh," says Dahlia," So what's the plan? Are we sending him on?"

"That, my dear, is up to Matt."

All eyes turn to look at me. I swallow hard.

"What are my other options?"

**Jonah**

**I can't help hiding, I'm scared. There are so many people here, and my condition got worse. I'm back to being burned. I don't want Matt to see me like this! And it didn't help that I was so weak I sank down here in my sleep. Honestly.**

**I like my furnace better, anyway.**

**It was a bad idea dragging Matt back into this. I'm not worth it, at all.**

**I snuggle further into the ashes, ignoring Matt's crying of my name. I want to be strong for him, but I'm just so damn tired.**

**As time wears on, new presence enters the house. Wendy, her familiar soul of lavender and cotton. I smile lightly. I really like Wendy. But there's a new soul, one I've never felt before.**

**Its lime green and loud, bouncing around. It feels like fire, beautiful and demanding.**

**To say it scares me is an understatement. God, I'm a coward.**

**I decide to go see who this insane soul belongs to. I pull my unwilling spirit out of the furnace, falling to the floor with a painful crack. I give a soft cry, my easily breakable bones screaming. Even in spirit form I'm hindered by my limitations from life. I float up though the kitchen floor, feeling a little bad for my earlier tantrum.**

**Until I see the vibrant green spirit kissing Matt.**

**Oh, that's embarrassing. My shock doesn't wear off until long after they've parted, everyone's sitting at the table discussing something. I go to leave when I hear Matt ask what his options were. Options for what?**

"Well, do you want to send him on, or…"

"Or what?"

**Yes Reverend, or what?! There is no or what.**

**Or is there?**

"Well, we could, essentially…..bring him back."

"What?!"

**What?!**

"That's not possible!"

**No it's not! That's downright Necromancy!**

**And that's when Wendy decides to pitch in.**

"Actually, there is a rumor it is."

"Yes," says the Reverend, "and I know how."

**No, Reverend! It' unnatural, unholy, terribly difficult, very painful…**

…**But imagine being alive again.**

"It's up to you Matt."

**Yes Matt, it's up to you.**

"So he'll be alive again?"

"Essentially."

"Then," Matt replies

**I hold my breath. Do I want to be alive again? But my life was so painful. But I would be with Matt.**

"Whatever it takes to bring him back."

**I exhale, the house groans, and my vision goes black.**

**The last thing I see is the Reverend staring at me. He knew I was there the whole time.**

**He knew.**

Matt

Later on that night my conscience decides to kill me. I know it's wrong. Unnatural. But I want it so bad. It's so selfish, I know. And as Dahlia mushes me to her, her naked form providing comfort, I can't decide if bringing him back is right or wrong.

I guess time will tell.


	9. Chapter 9: Selfishness

Monochrome Chapter 9: Selfishness

**Jonah**

**Those grey eyes are boring a hole into my soul, but I don't care.**

**After a long talk about reincarnation and unpacking, everyone retired for the night. Wendy went back to her room (even if it was mine first), Sara and Peter to the master bedroom, The Reverend to Mary's old room and Billy to his. After much talk, Matt and his dame were able to sleep in the same room. I can testify to the fact that there had been more than just sleeping involved. Really, in my house? Did Matt forget that I live in these walls? Ugh, couldn't they have taken it outside?! Really, these teenagers…psht. That was a part of Matt I had never wished to see.**

**And now, it's 11 pm and I and the Reverend are having a staring contest. I think I'm winning.**

**I had gone to bed when everyone else had (except for Matt and the girl, of course) and so had the Reverend. Until he had decided to come down into my sanctuary. I had been sleeping peacefully, curled up here in my furnace. Until Popescu quite literally poked me awake, saying he wanted to talk.**

**Aho, so he wants to talk, huh? I'll give him something to talk about!**

"**Just what in the blazing flames of hell made you think it was a good idea to tell him?!"**

"Please don't be upset, Jonah."

"**Don't be upset! You think you're a real McCoy, don't you? Playing God? That was not your place."**

"Freedom of speech, dear"

**I try to make a comeback, anything to show the indignation. But nothing comes, and I feel the hot angry tears start to prick at my vision.**

"Oh Jonah, I'm sorry."

"**You get me so bothered, you old bird."**

**The reverend smiles.**

"You talk like my father."

**I bristle, rather like an angry cat.**

"**Well, you should respect your elders."**

**And that's when he starts to laugh. At first I'm angry, upset that he isn't taking me seriously. But then the deep baritone chortles worm their way into my heart and I can't help but laugh as well.**

**After the laughter dies away, my earlier sense of impending dread comes back full force.**

"**I can't believe you told him."**

**He sighs.**

"I did it for you, and your mother."

**Red hot anger flashes through me. A strong wind is whipping my hair, his clothes. Ashes fly as the birds come out from the walls to raise hell.**

**The Reverend suddenly looks scared.**

**My anger disperses completely at the sight of his face. All movement stops.**

"I realize you're a powerful medium. Your mother did too. She asked my father to always protect you. Obviously, he failed miserably. He allowed you to be raised in blood and pain, abuse and neglect, desensitizing you from bodies, from gore. My father should have stepped in to stop the necromancy. He too was a Reverend; he should have recognized Aickman's dabbling in the black arts. But he did nothing. I do not wish to repeat the mistakes of my father."

"**How does reincarnation help me? It's pure black magic, re-animating a body. It's a strong form of Necromancy. Why are you doing this?"**

"There are different ways of reincarnation. No, you would be built not from your ashes, but your memories. I'm doing this so you can have a second chance at a happy life."

"**I'm already destined for Hell. That's where I belong, thrice damned and chained."**

**The good Reverend visibly stiffens at this.**

"Oh no, my dear boy, you have it all wrong. It was pre-destined that you were to be reincarnated. Your mother was a powerful seer; her talent lied in the future. She saw this happen. In fact," **he pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket,** "She left instructions."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

The first thing I'm aware of is the creaking sound. It's a clacking of gears, the groaning of metal.

My eyes slowly crack open. Everything is hazy, but I can just barely make out something coming towards me through the soft blue fog. The clicking of gears comes closer, and a pair of legs emerges. They look much skinnier than a normal person's legs. They're… encased in something. But it gets too hard to focus, and so I let my eyes fall shut. The clicking gets closer and closer, and stops by my head. I open my eyes to find them sanding right next to me. Its legs are very, very pale, almost translucent. Thick brass wires create a cage surrounding the pale flesh, gears on the knees and ankles allow for movement. Leather bracers go under the wires to hold them in place. The wires end a few inches above the knee, but the braces continue upwards in thin strips, running all the way up to mid-thigh before solidifying into a solid horizontal band wrapping around the person's upper thigh. Black shorts cover bony hips, leading to a tiny waist and fragile ribs.

Suddenly pain shoots through my skull, and I groan softly, closing my eyes. A tiny hand brushes the stray curls from my forehead, and then travels behead my head to support it. My eyes flutter open, and to my shock I come face to face with Jonah's gorgeous blue eyes. I've never seen him normal before. The only times I've ever seen him he's been burned or a translucent blue spirit. I'm horrified to find the mechanized limbs belong to him, and that even his stick-like arms have leather bracers. His face is small, his cheekbones sharp as knives. The whites of his eyes seem to almost have a bluish tint.

"Jonah," I cough and clear my throat, trying to clear it of the spider webs that seem to have taken nest there, "what's….wrong with you?"

He smiles a soft, sad smile.

"**You'll find out soon enough. Actually, I think you were brought here for a different reason"**

I stop to take in our surroundings. We are in a huge room, and the floor writhes with blue smoke. Bluish fog fills the room and adds dampness to the air. Jonah helps me get up, his thin frame barely supporting my much bigger one. I find that if you walk in either direction you will eventually find a wall of gold bars, much as if we were locked in one big gold cage.

"So, where are we exactly?"

"**The place where I'm trapped."**

"How do we get you out of here?"

He smiles a thin smile.

"**Didn't you already decide my fate?"**

My jaw hardens.

"Jonah, you can be with us! I need you.. you, you're like my other half. We share a soul. And we all miss you, me and Wendy, the Reverend, Mary, my mom. Please Jonah."

"**I am nothing but a burden."**

"No, you're the opposite! You give us all support. You cured me, and my family of their illness."

"**Your family?"**

"We were falling apart until you came along and made us see the importance in each other. C,mon Jonah, we can give you another chance at life!"

He sighs and closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. I step forward to him, grabbing his shoulders. I lean down so that we are to eye level. I had never seen the height difference between us, but he stands at least a foot shorter than me The blue orbs open slowly.

"Please?"

He sighs.

"**Okay."**

I feel a huge smile light up my face, and an answering one spreads slowly across his face. That smile, all teeth and too big for his small face.

But suddenly he starts to fade. His shoulders melt from under my hands, he slides to the floor. A gasp of pain escapes his parted lips.

I wake up from the cold and into the heat of Dahlia. She's draped over me like a blanket, all naked skin and the occasional tattoo.

My mom's at the door, calling out breakfast.

This is going to be one heck of a day.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Peter

I'm stacking waffles on a plate, fresh from the griddle. Matt's walking in with his girlfriend, and Wendy is already seated next to Popescu, who drinks his coffee with shaking hands. Sara's standing next to me waiting to take the finished waffles to the table. Billy's complaining loudly about how hungry he is.

This would be a normal everyday occurrence if not for the fact we're in this damn house again. I don't see what the big fucking deal is, why are we here to save a dead kid? He's already dead! I wish we could've left well enough alone, but no, we just HAD to come.

As everyone tucks in, I get the sense that the Reverend wants to say something. I nudge him pointedly. He clears his throat. Then he stares at me.

I sigh and begin.

"So, we now know that the house is still haunted. Big deal, it's still just a house. Now the reverend has this idea floating around his cracked head that we can reincarnate Jonah. Unfortunately, Matt has adopted this idea as well."

Popescu shoots me a fiery glare and cuts me off.

"It is possible, but it will be very hard. Matt, have you gotten Jonah's consent?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then! We shall start the process. To bring him back, we are going to use his memories to help flesh out what his existence was like, and then bring this into the real world. To do this, we need mementos from his past to serve as representations of his body, which he will later possess."

"How will that work?"

"Each and every memory stored within each object will serve to flesh out his body through the imprint of his soul on them. After we succeed in making his body however, we will have to somehow contain his soul in the vessel. At that point we're going to need a few doctors. So, does everyone agree?"

The room sits in stunned silence. The reverend sighs.

"Just pretend to understand, go along with it."

Everyone nods.

"So, I shall start assigning jobs. Wendy and Dahlia, I would like for you all to research more about Jonah as an actual person. If you can find anyone living that remembers him that would be fantastic. Sara, if you could find out what happened to all the Aickman's possessions after the incident, please? Peter, if you could break the seal on the mortuary. And Matt, please start working on strengthening Jonah's spirit. We're going to need him to help us."

Everyone pitched in their consent, although mine came with some hesitation.

"Hey! What am I supposed to do?!" piped up Billy's loud voice.

The Reverend smiles.

"You, my small friend, get to play with an Ouija board."

"AWESOME!"

As Matt laughs and ruffles his brothers hair, I can't help but remember how this house had changed Matt during our time here. If this boy, Jonah puts my family in danger, I'll kill him myself.

**Jonah**

**Here I am, curled on the window seat as they eat breakfast and discuss my impending rebirth. To be honest, I'm a bit more focused on the fact that those waffles smell amazing. The Reverend has given Matt the job of strengthening my spirit, which I find a little funny. He doesn't even know I'm in the room right now! Well, I am a little faint, so…**

**Everyone seems rather enthusiastic about this plan. Except for Peter, who's giving off some very negative vibes. Can't say I blame him, I wouldn't want me back either.**

**Seeing everyone laughing and enjoying breakfast makes a small smile appear on my face. Will I be a part of that someday? I would like to. But I don't know if I can handle this, I haven't talked to people in almost 60 years. And with all my problems, it will be so very hard.**

**They get to see all the skeletons in my closet. All the abuse, neglect, dark magic and this damn disease. All the other ghosts in this house shall be revealed.**

**I don't know if thy will still want me after they see my secrets.**

**Will Matt still be so open to me after he sees all the necromancy, all the blood and all the bodies? My story will have to be screamed so he can hear it over the sound of my breaking bones.**

**So many fractures. Sometimes bones break clean, sometimes they shatter and leave shards that make you cough up blood. Sometimes the sound is loud, grating, like your legs. Ribs break with a soft snap, and a sound like walking on dead leaves.**

**I don't think they know just what they're getting into.**


	10. Chapter 10: Ancient Librarians

Chapter 10: Ancient Librarians

Wendy

"No way, no. I am NOT going in there! They'll eat me alive! Wendy!"

I ignored Dahlia's rant, continuing to walk towards the library. It was only a few blocks away from the Aickman house, and I had gone there to research the house.

"Wends! Wendy! I probably owe like fifty dollars!"

"Dahlia, dear, you've never even set foot into the Goatswood library."

"It's like they have my wanted poster taped above the freaking door! They're all in cahoots, Wendy. Last time I set foot in a library all hell almost broke lose!"

I can't help but shake my head and laugh at that. Honestly, sometimes she's so much like Matt it's creepy. Now we're standing in front of the door, and Dahlia's feet are planted firmly to the ground.

"Please?"

"No."

"But I need your help!"

She refuses to even look at me, giving her chuck a good scruff against the ground.

"No." she mutters.

"Fine. You give me no choice." Before she even has time to react I have her nose stud pinched with one hand and the other hand has a finger through her gauge. Her big green eyes bore a hole through me.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would."

Mrs. LeFay (the librarian)

Someone is making quite he racket outside my library. I peer out the window, sitting my Earl Grey down on the desk. Ah, it's the girl living in Jonah's house! She's a nice girl, that one. But just who is she dragging? As they get closer the other girl seems to get more frantic, twisting but unwilling to break away from the Campbell girl. The nice one has both her hands on the girls face; she seems to be threatening her. As the one opens the door with her back, still dragging the other by her… piercings?

Good God! When did kids these days start putting earrings in their faces?

"OW! Ow, Wendy, let go! Fucking, ow! Stop it!"

"No! Now, we're in the library, will you stop trying to run?!"

"….yes."

The girl let go of the other, and the one reeled back, rubbing her nose and cussing.

"Please refrain from using that language in my library, young lady."

She grimaced and shot a glare at me, but held her tongue. The other girl, seemingly surprised by the others lack of retaliation, took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Um, hi, I would, well me and Dahlia here would like to go through the citizen files from the 1920's."

I felt a small smile take over my face. The roaring twenties. It had been the only decade since I had moved to Goatswood that I hadn't been happy. It was so grand for everyone else. Times were good, everyone had money to spare. No one had lingered to long on the deaths of the victims of the tragic séance at the Aickman house. No one cared that Jonah, was gone.

"Okay, right this way."

After I got them settled, I returned to my now cold tea. This crossword was really giving me a hard time, Jonah would be able to solve it. He was such a smart, brilliant boy.

I can hear the girls speaking over something, but I'm trying to focus on my crossword. Some phrases I hear catch my interest.

"Okay, so it says here his mother's name was Eleanor de Agnes, his father's name was Ramsey Maxwell Aickman and he was born June 12th, 1911. His full name is Jonah Leon Aickman."

"Maxwell, really? What a terrible middle name! And Ramsey, what is he, a mummy?!"

"Really, Dahlia! You're named after a flower; you have no room to talk."

As the girls continue to bicker, I strengthen my resolve and walk up to their table. I cough, and the girls look up at me expectantly.

"Excuse me," I begin, "but are you researching Jonah Aickman?"

"Yeah, what about it?" The tattooed girl snarls

The other girl squeaks and apologizes.

"Well, I was one of his friends."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sara

"Hello, Mr. Reinhart? This is Sara Campbell, we moved into your old house."

"Oh no, please, please don't sue me!"

"Oh goodness no! No, I called to ask if you knew anything about some people who used to live in this house."

"I don't know anything; I bought it as a no-questions-asked."

"Oh, okay. Well, goodbye."

I sigh and run my hand through my blond hair, rubbing my face and eyes.

"Hey Mom"

I jump and gasp loudly, whirling around to face a grinning Matt.

"Matt!"

He smiles. "Any luck with the old owners?"

"No, no-one seems to know anything."

"Have you tried the realtor?"

"No actually, thanks dear! How is your Dad doing?"

Matt laughs and tosses his curls. I can't help but smile; he looks so much healthier.

"He's trying his hardest. Pulled a crowbar out and everything, and he's said a few words I don't even know. It doesn't help that Billy's down there too, with an Ouija board. He's trying to get a signal from Jonah."

"So Matt, what are you doing?"

"Well, Jonah's hovering around her somewhere, and I'm trying to find him."

"Good luck dear."

"You, too."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

I plodded down the basement stairs, getting closer to my dad's angry ranting and Billy's foolishness. My dad was holding a crowbar in one hand and his dignity in the other. Billy had an Ouija board open on the floor, trying desperately to get anything out of Jonah, even a mumble. From the eerie feeling on the back of my neck I could tell that Jonah was in the room, probably much amused by the attempt.

"I am calling the spirit of Jonah Aiken! Jonah, are you here?"

"Well Billy," I began, "First of all, his name is Jonah Aickman. Secondly, he's probably just ignoring you."

Billy huffed and went back to chanting, and I closed my eyes. I could just barely feel his soft blue aura in the room, shaking softly as he laughed at the boys terrible attempts at being a medium. If I concentrated hard enough I could just barely hear the chiming of pearly laughter. I felt something move past me, but opened my eyes to find nothing was there.

The Ouija began to move.

H-E-L-L-O- E-A-R-T-H-L-I-N-G

Billy screamed and threw the board, and this time, I heard his laughter clearly.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Wendy

I felt my jaw drop in shock. The old woman smiled sweetly, pulling up a chair and continued to sip on her tea.

"Well, what can you tell us about him?"

"He was a very sweet boy, it's a shame his father was so terrible…"

"Mr. Aickman? What made him terrible?"

"Well, after Jonah's mother died, Ramsey got more and more depressed. He took to drinking, and started beating Jonah. Honestly, it was all just so terrible. He would come to work shaking, trying to hide the bruises on his face under his bangs"

"Work?"

"Yes, he worked here, shelving books." The old woman smiled at the memory, "He had a brilliant mind. He had a love for words, writing poetry that was so beautiful it moved your soul. Sometimes you had no idea what he was writing about, you just knew it was beautiful to hear."

Dahlia cut in, looking annoyed. "Yeah yeah, he was artistic and smart and shit. We came here for info, solid facts."

The woman looked in disdain at the teenager before her. It was so sad to see a person so angry at the world, so full of hate.

"So, you want the condensed version? Fine. Jonah Leon Aickman, born June 12th 1911. His mom died when he was eight. By the age of ten Aickman was into drinking, by eleven abuse. By twelve necromancy and séances. He died June 10th, 1928. Happy?"

The brunette shifted uneasily. "He was abused?

"Quite a lot. He was always sporting bruises or cuts. I can't count how many times he 'fell down the stairs'. He had a broken bone a week. He always wore these metal bracers on his legs. I think they were weak. There was a big incident in which Ramsey hit the boy so hard he couldn't see out of his left eye for a month, and a white haze covered his iris."

"Why didn't anyone help him?! What about child protective services or something?!"

The woman seemed startled by Dahlia's outburst, but then she smiled an eerie little smile.

"Well, does abuse strike a chord within you child? Does it hurt to know you aren't the only person in the world?"

Silence descended upon the room. Dahlia lowered her head. The old woman sighed. She got up and went to the file cabinet beside her desk, and drew a book from the deep confines of the bottom drawer. It was battered and worn, binding taped and pages frayed. She handed it to Dahlia.

The cover read: "Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley."

The girl looked up at the old woman.

"It was his favorite book. That is his copy, containing his thoughts about the books contents in the margins. I think you would enjoy it."

Sure enough, when I peered over her shoulder I could see the ink scribbles covering the books insides. On the very first page, before the title, there was writing. Dahlia read it out loud.

"The Gods are just. No doubt. But their code of law is dictated, in the last resort, by the people who organize society; providence takes its cue from men. Chapter 17."

Her smooth alto voice stumbled over the unfamiliar words, but the effect they had on her was obvious.

"You see my dear; those who decide our fate aren't perfect. We all have our histories."

Dahlia looked up.

"Could I read this?"

"It's yours."

A small smile overtook her face. As we walked towards the door, Dahlia suddenly whirled.

"What is your name?"

"Ms. LeFay." The woman replied.

"No, your full name."

"Jenina Ann LeFay. You?"

"Dahlia Danielle Denvers."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Dahlia Danielle Denvers."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sara

"Hello?"

"Hello Mr. Orwell. It's Sara Campbell."

"Oh! How do you like the house? Are you moving back in?"

"We aren't sure yet, but it's a possibility. I was wondering about the Aickman owners?"

"What about them?"

"Where are all their belongings?"

"Well, some were sold at auction, but most of the other things we just put up in the attic. A will was never written, so here was nothing else we could do."

"Thank you, Mr. Orwell."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

It's 6 o'clock and I'm starving. Mom finally got off the phone around two, and Dahlia and Wendy didn't come back till 4, even though they left at noon. Dad still can't get the damn mortuary open, and Billy's stopped because Jonah was making creepy death speeches.

A smile made my face twitch. Jonah had gotten Billy really worked up. The poor kid isn't going to sleep for weeks. Jonah himself had retired to God-knows where around four. I can't seem to find him. I peer over at Dahlia. She's hunched over in my baggy Metallica sweatshirt, reading a book. Her lips mouth the words as she struggles to read the complex and difficult novel. I wish I knew what it's about; she hasn't stopped reading it since she got home from the library. I can see black scribbles in the margins, and her eyes gaze shiftily around. Suddenly her eyes dart up to meet mine. She opens her mouth to speak.

"About Lenina: you burn black like a cigarette; I'll discard you when I'm done."

"What the hell was that?"

She smiled thinly at me, the stress lines on her face from years of hell showed on her young face.

"Jonah's thoughts on Lenina."

**Jonah**

**Fade out like a photograph**

**Just a memory to forget**

**You burn black like a cigarette**

**I'll discard you when I'm done**

**You break down when you need the rest**

**What a selfish way to drown**

**Then lay down with the thief you met**

**And enjoy the pride you've won**

**So let loose those tears, darling**

**The mom has found out that everything's in the attic. They will investigate tomorrow. Most of my skeletons are up there.**

**Dahlia's reading my book. My energy grows weaker. Even now is hard to breathe, hard to think.**

**Billy is scared, Wendy is happy, Peter is exhausted and so am I.**

**I just hope they don't hate me after it all comes to light.**

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

****Can you believe we're already on chapter ten?! :DDD

Thank you to my faithful readers David 9999, The Somebody of Nobody and Jo Nahmanaick. Keep being awesome!

To those reading but not reviewing, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it.

Sorry for the much-to-late chapter, I am so busy it's unreal.

Brave New World belongs to the late-but-great Aldous Huxley, and the poem at the end belongs to Seether, the song is called Fade Out.

Fun fact: I named Dahlia because I just happened to like that name. While trying to find a middle name that started with D for this chapter, I found out Dahlia means 'dweller in the valley'. Pretty creepy and awesome huh? So I paired it with Danielle (derived from Daniel) meaning 'judged by God'.

I think it fits her. From here on out the M warning is for Dahlia's language abuse and Ramsey's Jonah abuse.

See you all next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11: Dead Leaves

**A/N: Warning: Contains abuse. Beware triggers!**

Chapter 11: Dead Leaves

Ramsey

He sits across from me at our scarred table. His hands are shaking as he drinks his tea in small sips. I can see the blood from his mouth tainting the tea. He's hunched over, knees to his chest; cup clutched tightly to his chest by his small hands. His hair creates a sheer black curtain to shield his face.

"Stop crying."

He flinches at the sound of my voice, glaringly loud in the dead silence of the room. He curls up into himself; the tea sloshes out of the cup. I stand, and move to his side. I gently slide my hand under his hair, pushing it back and cupping his cheek. His skin is so smooth, so pale. He is truly beautiful, just like his mother was. He looks up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes, straight from his mother. They look at me in fear, anguish, and love. My dear boy loves me so much. I wipe the tears from his face; he trembles under my touch. His lip is split, and even as I watch a trickle of blood runs down his chin. His cheek sports a purple pattern, and the rest of his face has yellowing patches. There's a blue one on his left temple, and grey shadows under his eyes.

His body is a beautiful canvas. His skin is so white, like paper. I love painting it. Purple, blues, reds, yellows. I rub his skin with my thumb. He trembles silently, his eyes downcast, his thick black lashes standing in stark contrast to his skin.

"Jonah."

He makes no motion, he just sits there silently. He is like a statue, cold and unwavering. I feel my anger start to boil. I draw my hand back.

Slap

The sound echoes through the house. He gasps and the cup slips from his shaking fingers; it hits the floor, shattering into a million glass shards. The boy brings a trembling hand up to his cheek. There's a red blotch covering the purple bruise under that, which covered the once yellowing bruise under that. Layers of bruises on that one cheek. His eyes slip close.

"I'm sorry." His voice is a whisper, thin and tired.

The guilt washes over me. I kneel, glass shards digging through the fabric of my pants. He turns to face me in the chair. I wrap my arms around his waist, drawing him to me and hugging him. I bury my face in his neck. My boy, my son. I let my tears go in his shoulder.

"I love you."

He smiles a sad smile, wrapping his thin arms around my neck, resting his bruised cheek on the top of my head.

"I know."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

Today we embark on a journey. It's a big step for man, Reverend, and medium.

Anyway, today we explore the attic. I'm hoping getting closer to Jonah by going through his belongings . Maybe it will make it easier to sense him. Hopefully he won't be mad at me.

But first, we must consult the reverend. Right now he's knee-deep in a ton of hand-written notes, letters, books, and essays.

"So, Reverend, what are you up to?"

He glances up at me, nerves in his eyes.

"Doing research on the exact method we are going to use to bring Jonah back. If we go about it the wrong way, he could end up a vampire, demon, incubus or a malevolent ghost. We wouldn't want that to happen."

Well, those mental images are going to haunt my dreams tonight.

"Why do we need to search the attic then?"

"To find relics of Jonah, things that still have his spirits presence on them. Using those, the memories imprinted on the objects will form Jonah's body."

"What kind of things are we looking for?"

"Things that must have meant a lot to him. Since you are so closely tied to him you will be able to tell which objects mean something. Also, any photographs or journals would be fantastic. The more things we get from his past, the easier it will be to pull him out of the past."

And that's how I ended up climbing the stairs to the attic, Wendy and my mom behind me. Dahlia's at the library, researching reincarnation (and incubi, the thought of them seems to tickle her immensely); Dad is still trying to get the mortuary open and Billy is too scared to venture anywhere Jonah might be. I have a feeling Jonah's stalking Billy just to mess with him, and its working. What a mischievous little spirit.

The old door creaks open with a loud sound, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The attic looks small and eerie. Dingy light filters through the one grimy window, the dust particles shining in the stuffy air. A smell of decay is up here. I step farther into the room, and I hear the soft crunching sound of dead leaves.

There's something here. I can feel a soft pulse in the room. The Reverend was right, Jonah clings to these objects. There's a desk, a big chest, cardboard boxes, two antique wardrobes, a big metal box that catches the light instantly. There's paintings wrapped up against the wall, and furniture draped in sheets create eerie white ghosts. An old grandfather clock stands silently, keeping guard over the objects.

Slowly, we all dispersed. Mom drifted over to the paintings, Wendy to the furniture and I went straight for the heaps of boxes.

All were labeled haphazardly with Sharpie, and it was obvious whoever packed everything up didn't know who had occupied the house. I sifted through boxes, tossing aside ones labeled as Kitchen, Bathroom, Living room, and a bunch of others until I found one labeled " Room Three: Room with Birds". Yup, that's it. The box feels warm in my hands. I open it.

The smell of sage and coffee assault my senses, my vision swims. As my eyes refocus I see the contents of the box. To be honest, it's not much. There's a tin box, a stuffed animal, a few books, a bigger wooden box, a sketchbook, and a couple bits of cloth. I open the tin box, inside are a huge mismatch of things; dice, tarot cards, a small bottle with an amber liquid, big wooden beads, and a rubber ball. Nothing special. The stuffed animal catches my interest. It's a stuffed cat, made of random patches of cloth of all different texture and colors. It smells overwhelmingly of lilies, and feels warm in my hand.

**Shiny caramel colored hair falls around me in waves. Her bright blue eyes look down on me, sparkling with happiness.**

"**Look who fixed Mimi kitty!" She exclaimed, her soprano casting bell tones in the air.**

**I reach out my skinny baby arms in glee.**

"**Mama!"**

**She pulls me into a hug, all red velvet and pale. She smells like lilies, my mother.**

"Matt?"

My own mother looks at me. She has blond hair and my brown eyes. They look different on her, lighter. I know her beautiful face better than my own. All the laugh lines, worry lines, crow's feet. I smile.

"I'm okay."

This is what the Reverend meant. I would know what items were special. I sat the stuffed cat aside, by the stairs, and continued with that box. The wooden box contains sketching pencils, charcoal and pastels. The pencils have very faint warmth to them. I get a very vague image of Jonah's thin fingers sketching his surroundings. That brings me to the sketchbook. I crack open the leather cover and gasp.

So. Many. Sketches.

The first is of a bird, a crow sitting on a bench. Next is a butterfly, then a big oak tree. It seems Jonah was sketching out where he was. I flip a couple pages and feel a huge smile grace my face. There's a cat stretching luxuriously, back arched and tail curved. Next is one of Aickman, holding a newspaper as he sips his coffee. His glasses reflect light. He has a contemplative expression on his face.

"Wow, he was really talented."

Wendy's behind me, looking at them over my shoulder. I nod, flipping the page. This one is of a woman. She looks to be in her late twenties, very early thirties. She has a thick brown braid thrown over one shoulder, and she wears a green vest over a white blouse. She has grey eyes.

Wendy gasps.

"That's her! Mrs. LeFay!"

"Who?"

"Mrs. LeFay! The librarian!"

Well alright-y then. I flip again, this time to seemingly a landscape. There was a woman with long white hair sitting on a stone by a shack, petting a black cat. A young red-headed girl plays by a pond. I got a soft vibe from the red-head, but kept flipping. Now there was a portrait of the redhead. Her hair was copper-colored and fell in ringlets to her shoulders. She had a round face and full lips, and had huge black eyes. She had a quirked, mischievous smile on her face.

**Her red curls bounced on her shoulders as she ran, her bare feet crunching through the dead autumn leaves as she ran through the forest. Her laughter rang like bells, echoing of the trees.**

"**C'mon Jonah!" She screamed, and grabbed my hand to tug me along faster.**

**Actually, I didn't mind. Not one bit.**

I put this drawing to the side.

"She's important."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

I moved on to the other contents of the box. None of the books caught my eye except one; it had a faded green cover and reeked of sage, which meant he had used it often. I opened it up.

Oh yes, a journal! This is perfect! I thumbed through the pages excitedly, hardly believing my luck. Jonah's small, spidery scrawl covered the pages, along with mini sketches and what looked to be poetry. Achievement get: Journal jackpot.

"Before you get too excited, let's look at the other stuff too."

I nodded to Wendy, setting the journal by the picture and the cat. I opened up a mahogany wardrobe to reveal a ton of fluffy sweaters, a couple dress shirts, a few pairs of suspenders, pants, shorts and a few pairs of shoes. They all reeked of sage. I turned to where my mom was still going through the paintings. She had unearthed several portraits. These hadn't been done by Jonah, as he had been too young at the time. One was of Ramsey and his wife, a baby Jonah cradled in her arms. Aickman looked so happy. I realized with a jolt that Jonah had his father's smile; Ramsey's smile was too big for his face and showed too much teeth. He still had black hair in the painting, silky and straight. His arm was wrapped around Jonah's moms shoulders. She was a lot shorter than him, her head coming up only to about halfway up his chest. He followed the line of her arm, cradling the precious bundle. I realized with a start that she was in a wheelchair. Why? She looked healthy, all glowing skin and smile. Her bright blue eyes seemed opalescent, and her sons cerulean eyes stared up at her. He had a lock of her hair curled round one baby finger. I turned the portrait around. It said: Ramsey, Eleanor and Jonah, 1911. Jonah wasn't even a year old then. The other portrait was a young Jonah, with round toddler cheeks and a stormy expression in his eyes. It was dated 1909. I turned to the next painting, and my heart skipped a beat. Jonah, much older this time, was sitting up straight. He was small, his shoulders were very petite. His face had lost its baby fat, giving him a sharp chin and sculpted cheekbones. He wasn't smiling; he just looked forward with a despondent look on his face. His arms appeared to be resting on a table, and I could just barely see the beginnings of metal at his elbows. What was that about? The painting was dated 1926, Jonah would have been fifteen.

"Matt?" My mom's voice sounds high and worried.

I turn to see her next to the chest, its lid open and sunlight glinting of something metal in its depths. Wendy steps forward and looks into the chest, her jaw dropping open. I look in, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

Metal limbs rested in the box. They are a framework of brass wires, delicate and deadly-looking. There's a pair of legs and a pair of arms. The brass frame work is held together with thick leather binding, and there are gears at the ankle and knee. There are two inches of frame above the knee, with thin brass rods leading from the end of the framework up to a thick leather band on either side. Each leg was symmetrical but completely separate. The arms are the same, brass wires and leather binding with gears at the wrists and elbows. Also in the chest was a pair of stiff leather fingerless gloves and a tall pair of hard reinforced boots.

"Matt, what exactly are we dealing with?"

"Osteogenesis Imperfecta, brittle bone disease." Wendy answered.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Mrs. LeFay

No one could imagine my surprise when I looked up from my crossword to see Dahlia Denvers standing in front of my desk. She had bags under her eyes and a finger stuck halfway through the pages of Brave New World.

"Best. Book. Ever."

I can't help but smile.

"Would you like some tea?"

She paused, shifting on her feet.

"I've never had hot tea before."

"Earl Grey it is."

Lunchtime found me and the young teen sitting at a reading table in armchairs, discussing Brave New World and sipping tea.

"So if this were to really happen, do you think we would still have God?"

Her question made me pause.

"Yes."

She nods, "Me too."

"So," I start, "Why were you so upset when I told you Jonah was abused?"

Her gaze hardened. "No-one should be abused." She pulled up the sleeve of her hoodie, revealing two perfectly round burn marks. Her arm had several scars. " Cigarette burns. For not making curfew."

I lay a hand over hers.

"More tea?"

She smiles a huge smile. "Of course Mrs. Lefay!"

"Please, call me Nina."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

The Reverend stares at the mechanized limbs with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well, this complicates things."

I had carried the chest down myself. I had yet to touch the metallic framework. I knew as soon as I did the overwhelming memories would assault me. The thought scared me.

"Now risk of complication during rebirth is much, much higher. And recovery after reincarnation is going to be much, much more difficult."

I was only half listening to his words. I feel a small blue presence in the room, shaking feebly. I reach out to him with my mind.

Jonah, please stop hiding.

**No.**

Why not?

**Because. It's embarrassing.**

What, weakness?

**Yes.**

It makes you human.

I get silence after that. Taking a deep breath, I sit down.

The Reverend looks at me. "Are you sure?"

"Very."

I reach out and touch the cold metal.

**I am standing in a doorway. The doorway to Wendy's room. But it looks very, very different. The blue paint is brighter. The room is sparse. A threadbare green velvet armchair sits in a corner, books stacked in towers next to it. An abandoned cup of tea totters precariously on one of the towers. A writing desk is strewn with sketches and papers, and a mahogany wardrobe stands silent and imposing. A large chest stands at the foot of a bed, also pushed in a corner. It is adorned with a well-loved old quilt, faded light blue. And in the bed was Jonah. He is sleeping peacefully, oblivious to my presence. A black cat is curled up on top of his head, its tail curled on Jonah's cheek.**

**Suddenly, an alarm clock goes off. The sound is enough to scare me out of my wits, the harsh sound much too real. **

**I am in the past.**

**I hear Jonah groan, and look over to see him shift, a thin pale arm snaking out from under the quilt to smack the offending clock to the floor. Jonah sits and weaves groggily, rubbing his face and yawning.**

"**Wahtimezit?"**

**A deep baritone started me senseless, and I realize with a shock that I am standing in Ramsey Aickman. Literally. He steps forward and passes through me, walking to the bed.**

"**I'm sorry my boy, I don't speak Jonahnese."**

"**Ha ha. I asked what time it was."**

"**9, and you need to get up now."**

**The boy sighs and uncovered himself, and I couldn't contain my gasp. He is covered in bruises. His back is red and raw, and there is a red ring around his neck. Aickman sighs.**

"**Do they hurt?"**

**Jonah only stares silently. Wordlessly, his father pulls salve out of his pocket, opening the jar and beginning to smooth the balm over his son's wounds. Jonah hisses in pain.**

"**I thought I told you not to disobey me. I hate punishing you, but when you keep going against me…."**

"**Sorry, father."**

**The old man quirks a smile.**

"**Well, let's get you up and mobile. Which do you want, bracers or boots?"**

"**Bracers. I ache terribly."**

**Aickman stands and goes to the chest. Jonah shifts his legs out of bed. They are terribly thin, and possess a row of identical bruises on each leg. The man comes back with the metal rib-like appendages, kneeling before his weak son. He eases a sock onto each foot before gently beginning to close the metal cage over his son's leg. It fits perfectly, and one by one he tightens the buckles on the outside of the braces, pulling them as far as they'll go before buckling them down. The bruises coexist with the position of the buckles. Once Jonah's all suited up Aickman fetches a pair of black shorts, and helps his son shimmy into them. He produces a pair of black shoes. The look almost like ballerina flats with a strap across the top. The shoes fit to the bottoms of his feet, buckling over the small part of wire cage on the top of Jonah's foot. I realize it must be extremely painful to wear normal shoes with those things on.**

**Aickman holds out a stiff arm. "When you're ready."**

**Jonah takes a strong hold of his dads arm, gingerly sliding out of bed, his feet touching the wooden floor. He stands up, wobbling slightly and leaning heavily on Aickman. After a few steps his legs seem to gain confidence and he lets go of the man's arm, taking a few small steps. He walks to the chest and retrieves the leather gloves, slipping them on and flexing his fingers. Once he's dressed he heads out the door.**

"**Well, are you coming?"**

**Aickman smiles and follows his son out.**

I land back in the present, gasping like a fish and shaking. My mom has a hold of me, and the Reverend looks at me in concern. Wendy hands me a tissue, and I wipe away my tears. Somewhere in the room, I hear Jonah crying. His tears fall with soft plinks to the floor. I reach out to him, but he recoils, drawing further into himself. I look back at the metal limbs.

This is much, much more dangerous than I thought.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/**

**Hello everyone~ I hope you're having a great a day as I am!**

**Okay, here we start establishing the mood of the story; it isn't all sunshine and rainbows, And Jonah's condition comes out. For all those who actually review: what are your thoughts? I would love to hear from those of you not reviewing as well :)**

**Thank you so much for all the follows! Sorry the chapters are starting to get posed farther apart, but it can't really be helped.**

**Love,**

**Zelda**


	12. Chapter 12: Space Cadet Seymour

Chapter 12: Space Cadet Seymour

My bed is cold. Dahlia fell asleep downstairs, reading Brave New World. She fell asleep with the book parted on her chest, snoring and half slumped over. I hadn't the heart to move her. So I sleep alone, stretched out on the small twin bed. My feet hang off the edge. I stare dully at the painting of birds on the wall. I am aware that Jonah once slept in this same bed. The thought keeps me awake, yet I can't seem to part with this room. I turn over, willing myself to sleep. The soft ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs lends me an uneasy sleep.

I'm back at summer camp, tender and still naïve at the age of 13. I hadn't been diagnosed with cancer yet. I'm swimming in the lake, overly self-conscious about my pale, underdeveloped body. I tread water, watching the girls as they swim. Most are like me, young and underdeveloped. All except for the one. She was the same age as the rest of us, but she hit puberty before the rest of the girls. All the others wore bikinis just for the sake of the practice, having nothing to fill the top. But the girl, she was much more developed than the rest. I remember many a night spent fantasizing over her. I guess you could say she was my first love. She was calm and funny, charismatic. She had long, straight black hair, and almond shaped eyes. Yet she didn't even know I existed.

One day, while swimming, she swam towards me. The silky skin of her thigh touched mine.

She was my first kiss.

We spent our days talking, oblivious to the world outside of our bubble. We had such fun. But then the end of summer came, and we went our separate ways.

Her name was Tsuki. Pronounced sue-key. It meant moon in Japanese.

I still think about her. And here I am, sleeping alone in a bed, in a room where tragedies have happened. Moonlight filters through the window.

Tsuki. Moonlight. I can almost feel her warmth… I cuddle closer to the living being beside me…

And come in contact with fur.

I shoot out of bed like a rocket, clutching a pillow as if it could actually protect me. The yellow eyes of a cat stare back at me. It's a big black cat, with thick fur and long whiskers. It stares at me silently, as if challenging me.

What the hell?!

"Cat, how did you get in here?

"Mao."

I quirked an eyebrow at it. It didn't meow normally, it sounded like it was saying mah-ow. Weird cat. I approached it cautiously, climbing back into bed. The cat just simply walked to the end of the bed, watching me get under the covers. I decided to ignore it, closing my eyes and pretending I didn't care. I feel its weight padding past me, curving up by my head. The cat's warm weight settles on the top of my head, and its tail comes down to rest on my cheek. It feels very soothing. I manage to smile before sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next morning the sun decided to wake me up much to early. I groaned and rolled over.

"MAOWWWW."

I screamed and rolled back over, off the cat I had squished. The cat glared at me, its fur on edge and tail puffed to the max.

"Sorry, sorry!"

The cat turned and strutted away from me, out the door and down the hallway. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. What the hell is happening? I padded down the hallway. It seemed everyone else was already up. I can hear happy chatter, and the smell of bacon is thick. As I walk into the kitchen, my mom turns to me, and looks down.

"Matt, where did you acquire a cat?"

I look down to see the cat had followed me, right behind me heels.

"Hell if I know. Pass the bacon?"

As I tuck into my food I can feel it's eyes boring into me. Sure enough, I look down to see it staring at me. It licks its chops. I smirk and hand it some ham. It vacuums it up, then paws my leg for more. I continue feeding it as I observe my family. Mom is talking to dad, looking happy, and the Reverend talks with Billy. Something about a comic book named Priest. Wendy is examining her nails, probably wondering when she'll get a boyfriend. Dahlia catches my attention. She eats ravenously, shoveling eggs with one hand and a piece of bacon in the other. The bags under her eyes are darker, and she isn't wearing makeup. Her hair sticks up in the back slightly.

"Um, babe, are you ok?"

She looks up at me, her chipmunk cheeks bulging. She chews and swallows, then shoots me a crooked smirk.

"Hey there sexy. Yeah I'm fine, just been reading more hardcore lately." She looks down, just now noticing the cat. "Who's the fuzz ball?"

"Dunno, it climbed up in bed with me last night."

"Obviously it knows how to pick men."

I chuckle, and turn back to my family. I notice someone is missing.

"Hey guys, where's Billy?"

My mom looks up, just now noticing one of her kids is missing. She yells for the tween. He sidles up to the archway of the kitchen. Worry lines his young face.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, offering out an arm. He walks forward and I pat his back. He shuffles nervously.

"Um Matt, I can't find Jonah."

"What? I thought you were hiding from him."

"Well," he quirks a small smile, "It kind of evolved into hide-and-seek. Only now I can't find him."

"Have you checked the attic?"

"Yeah, he's not there."

I look over at the Reverend, who has his arms crossed and his thinking face on.

"Maybe he's in the mortuary."

My dad smacks the table. "I've tried, but the damn thing doesn't want to open."

The Reverend gets up. "let's see if we can change that."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Peter

Everyone plods down the stairs to watch the Reverend work his holy magic. To be honest, it ticks me off. I already told them it won't open. It's like they don't even hear me. Once everyone is down the stairs, Popescu turn to the door. He lays a hand on the glass.

"Please Jonah, let us in."

I nearly shit my pants when I hear a tiny voice reply: **"No"**

"Please?"

"**No."**

"C'mon, Matt is worried. I'm worried. We just want to talk to you."

Silence.

"What is it you're hiding down here?"

I turn to the Reverend. "You think he's hiding something?"

"I know he is. There are two spirits down here, not just one."

I get cold chills. Suddenly Matt steps forward.

"Jo, let me in. I'll never let anyone hurt you. But you gotta talk to me. You're my bro, we have the same wavelength. Please?"

Slowly, the door clicks open. You have got to be kidding me! All I had to do was ask?! Ugh, this ghost is difficult. Everyone walks in. Wendy and Dahlia look around in awed horror, never having been in the mortuary before. Matt and Popescu immediately zero in on the furnace. The Reverend smiles.

"There you are."

Everyone in the rooms gasps as suddenly the ghost is visible. He's almost translucent, and is just a pale blue figure. You can barely see him, but he's there. His eyes are like neon. Dahlia is the first to break the stunned silence.

"So that's him." She whispers. "Jonah Aickman."

He smiles a small smile.

"**Dahlia. I'm glad you're enjoying Brave New World."**

The teen positively glows as she strides forward to shake the mediums hand enthusiastically.

"The book has changed my life."

He smiles again. **"It changed mine"**

He turns to look at Wendy.

"**Hello Wendy."**

Wendy waves. "Hi Jonah."

He turns to the rest of the room.

" **Hello Sara, Peter, Billy and Reverend Popescu."**

They all greet him back. Suddenly Matt strides forward, mad as hell.

"Where have you been?! Why did you leave me?! Why are you making this so fucking hard?!"

Jonah looks down, staring silently.

Matt continues to yell.

"What am I supposed to do?! You call me here and then ignore me?! What the fuck Jonah, why won't you let me save yo-"

Icy blue tears fall from the ghost's eyes, freezing in midair and falling to the floor with a _plink_.

"**I'm sorry." **He whispers.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

I step back. His apology feels like a slap in the face. How many times had he apologized to Aickman in the same thin, broken whisper after his father beat him senseless? So many broken bones. His crystalline tears cut me like knives. I step forward, wiping the remaining tears from his translucent face. He flinches back as if I might hit him. Shame floods me. I'm such an ass. Screaming at him, and yet it's probably not even his fault that he can't talk to me anymore.

"Mao." The cat interrupts us. Jonah sniffles and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. His gives a broad smile at the sight of the cat.

"**Seymour!"**

"Mao!"

Jonah slips out of the small crematorium, his feet hitting the floor. He takes a single step and one of his legs breaks with a sickening crack, the sound loud and grating. Wendy screams and I see Dahlia recoil in on herself, grabbing her ribs as if remembering how much that hurts.

Jonah doesn't even seem to notice. The huge smile never slips from his face even when his leg gives out and he hits the floor hard, more bones breaking from the impact. The cat runs to him, rubbing itself all over Jonah. Jonah picks the cat up, burying his face in its fur and squeezing it in a hug.

"**Seymour! I've missed you!"**

"Mao, mao, mao mao mao!"

The Reverend smiles.

"Are you ready to let us help you?"

Jonah looks up. His eyelashes are frozen with tears and there are glowing tracks on his face. He holds the cat tightly. He nods. My heart aches.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sara

I watch as Matt carries the small pale being up the stairs. A creepy feeling is clawing at my spine. When had ghosts become real people? And when had they been able to directly influence humans like Jonah does? I remember the frantic look of absolute terror after Matt got the phone call from the Reverend. Now he looks almost happy, walking with the pale blue spirit in his arms. He must weigh nothing, Matt doesn't even show strain. Jonah's broken leg flops uselessly, and the cat has his tail wrapped around it as if that would help. Speaking of the cat, it's staring at me now, as if it can read my thoughts. Jonah had said his name was Seymour? Must be a boy cat then. Seymour lays protectively on Jonah's stomach, against Matt's chest. Was this cat around when Jonah was alive? That seems impossible, it doesn't look like an old cat. But Jonah looks young, and he's been around for 80-odd years. Who knows what's in store with this house.

Matt sits Jonah down at the table, Seymour jumping up to reclaim Jonah's lap. The boy strokes the cats fur, and Seymour lolls around boneless-ly on his lap, purring loudly.

The Reverend notices this.

"So Jonah, that is your cat correct?"

"**Yes."** His voice sounds happy, and he smiles slightly as he continues to pet the cat. "**His name is Seymour.**"

"Yes, have long have you had Seymour?"

He suddenly clams up.

"Jonah?"

He mumbled something unintelligible.

The Reverend cut in.

"Jonah, we are going to have to start soon."

The ghost freezes, his eyes widen.

"**No."**

"Jonah, this can be easy or difficult."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt POV

What is the Reverend talking about? Jonah looks scared. Wait, no, he looks defiant.

"**Well then, I choose difficult."**

The Reverend sighs.

"Okay. Matt, hold him down."

"What?!"

"Do it!"

I tighten my hold on the medium, pinning him to the chair.

"**Matt! What the hell?!"**

"Uh, Reverend?" I asked uncertainly, "Why…"

"We must trap his spiritual body to create a physical one."

Jonah thrashed against me, his knee stabbing my thigh. I can feel his leg, fine and unbroken. He is just a spirit after all. As he fights against me, the Reverend kneels in front of the teen, trapping a leg under his full body weight.

"Wendy, fetch the braces."

Jonah shrieks and fights harder. I'm practically sitting on him now, his thin body constantly in motion as he tries to escape. I feel my anger start to boil.

"So, Popescu, why the hell are we doing this?"

"We need an extreme connection to his past body, thus, we are going to put his braces on."

"Won't they just go through him?"

"Not if you have a hand on him, he is physical when being touched by you or a medium."

Wendy walks back in, stumbling under the weight of the chest. Jonah sees her and gives a particulary harsh scream. His stick arm arches, trying to free itself from its prison of my hand. I feel his arm snap in my hand, and I cringe back, the shock of feeling his arm break and his resulting scream startling me like a gunshot. Jonah starts to cry, wailing in pain and fear as Wendy takes out one of the mechanical legs. I start to whisper brokenly in his ear.

"Please don't cry, Jonah I'm sorry, please, it will be over soon please Jonah."

He continues to cry as Popescu slips a brace on the leg under him. He tightens the straps and buckles them in place. The first brace is on. Within the next ten minutes, almost all all the braces are on, including the left arm and both hands. Jonah is spent, crying gently and curling in on himself. His arm is tucked under his legs and to his chest.

"Jonah, give me your arm." The Reverends voice is strong and firm. Jonah just shakes his head, tucking his arm tighter to himself. I sigh.

"Jonah, let me see." I ask, rubbing his leg gently. He sniffles and shows me the arm. It's the broken one, and its crooked. I take up the brace and slide it onto his arm. As I tighten the straps Jonah cringes in pain as the brace aligns his broken bone. I begin buckling them. As I get to the last one I pause. I look into his eyes. I snap it into place.

Suddenly my arms are full of cold corpse.

Wendy, Mom, Billy, and Dahlia scream. My dad shouts, the Reverend starts. For Jonah isn't a translucent blue ghost anymore. He is a solid physical body.

But he is dead.

His corpse looks fine, in fact he could be sleeping. But there isn't any breath. He has no heartbeat, no pulse. He is an empty body, propped up in a chair and wearing metal braces.

"Well," The Reverend begins, "This is when things really start to get interesting."

**/\/\/\/\/\**

**Hello everyone! As you can see, I have changed my Username. I had ZeldaNut1 for a long time, and I have changed alot since then. I think it appropriate to change it according to my changing writing style. But don't worry, I still love Zelda ^-^**

**I'm sorry this chapter took forever, finals are coming up and I'm sick. *sarcasm* Great combination, right? **

**Thank you to all those reading, including those who read but not review.**

**Expect a Saw oneshot soon.**


	13. Chapter 13: He Burns Like the Sun

Chapter 13: He Burns Like the Sun

_January 12, 1928_

_The snow is coming down in droves outside. I had hoped with Christmas and the New Year father would be more apt to accept my dislike for the necromancy, but it seems not. He is currently rambling to himself and slamming his precious bottle around. Let's hope he doesn't get the smart idea to lock me in 'the place' again. He's mad because this morning I snuck out. Honestly, I really just wanted to play in the snow. It's great because snow is soft and fluffy, so I can go without my braces. If I fall, the snow just breaks my fall. So I bundled up real good, scooted down the stairs (because stairs and me don't mix), and slipped out of the house. It's his fault for being too preoccupied drowning in self-pity to see his only child escape without a hitch. Anyway, the day found me at Peirce Creek with the fortune teller and Anna. The teller served us homemade tea as me and Anna sat in the middle of the frozen pond, surrounded by candles and charcoal circles. The ice steamed as hot wax hit its surface, but we didn't care. We held a small prayer for the dead and dying, there in our circle of light, and the spirits floated around like luminescent butterflies. Afterwards we had a snowball fight to rival the ages! It truly was quite the war; I was winning until Teller jumped in with an aerial attack from above. I and Anna were soaked through and shivering, her lips were cherry red in the cold. She said mine were blue. We found out that when we kiss our lips wouldn't be purple, but that apparently I blush every time. Anna finds this amusing. I toddled back home, I couldn't feel my legs so I literally ended up rolling. Me and Anna were laughing hysterically, she drug me through the snow when I couldn't walk anymore. We ended up falling in a snow drift, and we were laughing too hard, buried in the snow, to hear Teller yelling at us and my father's anger until he grabbed me by my coat and hauled me up out of the pile of snow. I shook the snow out of my face to see Teller dragging Anna away by her arms, screaming at father in a language I couldn't understand. Father screamed right back at her; I was clawing at his chest, trying to get to Anna. She seemed horrified. She hadn't believed me when I told her how far gone he was. The locket I gave her fell out of her collar, and I felt my father freeze. He went as if to stride forward and grab it, so I bit his hand hard, I fell out of his arms and frantically scrambled to get away. He howled and yanked me up by my arm; I could feel the bones pull as he slapped me hard across the face. I heard Anna scream in anger, but Teller had already hauled her away into the forest._

_So now here I am. I'm piled under a ton of blankets in a closet upstairs, hiding. But I've never had that much fun! I hope Anna isn't scared of me._

Here he is, bright and happy. Despite the sour ending, Jonah's brilliancy and defiance shines through. He and Anna are happy, and doing well. I think this was one of the last days was he was happy.

_March 28, 1928_

_Hello journal, I am back. Missed me? I think not. Anyway, I have the feeling something is approaching soon. Not the war, which I have also been seeing in the future. No, this involves me, and that's always a scary prospect. I can't entirely make it out, but I seem to be a dark entity, and I can walk. I don't understand it at all. It looks as if I'm covered in ash. Was there a fire? And I dreamt of him again, although he seems angry at me. I can't understand why. He looks sickly._

_Everything feels like it's unraveling. I and Anna made up, although she never really was mad at me. The charm is in her safe possession. She understands how important it is. Teller senses something coming as well, and she seems to become more and more hostile towards me. Does the near future predict demise to Anna?_

_Also, father put me back in there, this time for what I thought to be two days. He caught me setting spirits lose. Thankfully, he is getting older by the day and cannot hit as forcefully as he used to. My bones seem to be getting stronger, I can move about the house without the braces. The spirits are bothering me more now; they're getting angry and restless. They knock on the walls, move things, and trip me. One almost pushed me down the stairs yesterday._

_Mrs. LeFay had her baby today. It was stillborn. Her name was Charlotte. I, Mrs. LeFay, Anna and Teller held a small ceremony at the creek, and we buried Charlotte under a willow tree. I painted her portrait for Mrs. Lefay; she cried and called me a beautiful child. I must say I disagree. I love her so much; I wish she could be my mother._

_I miss my mama. And my father before he went mad with sorrow._

_On a happy note, I painted yet another portrait of Anna, made cookies, and sneaked a hug from father today!_

_Last week me and Anna accidentally dyed Seymour's tail pink. It's a long story._

_I pray for understanding and patience. May the sickly boy wait for me._

This is where things get eerie. He doesn't know he's going to die within the next 4 months. He's even having visions of it and doesn't understand. He's having visions of me. Of his burned up, broken body. And Aickman, he's as abusive as ever.

_June 10__th,__ 1928_

_The day is almost over and Anna hasn't come. Father let me out of the place early this afternoon. I don't remember it at all; I just know I woke up an hour later, strapped to my bed as father tended the cuts. I feel…kind of empty. My left side hurts badly; I think I fell on it. Maybe from the cage? I don't know. Father put me up because I tried to burn the house down. He said he would be out of town the whole day. I didn't plan on the neighbors hearing my laughter and calling him. The spirits were so close to being free. God, they're angry. They're inside my head, hammering nails into my skull, pulling and burning the wires in my head. I can't speak anymore; my chords are shot from all the screaming. I hope Anna gets here soon. We're going to run away, I can't handle this anymore. I'm trying to be happy but I feel like screaming. My hands all wrapped up because I broke it after punching the lock of my cage Father wants to do a séance tonight. But I should be gone by then._

It's the night of his death and he still thinks he's free. But he isn't free. In fact, he's already dead. Because that happy spark, his shy sense of humor is missing. The sense of love for his father, even Anna is gone. He's empty. Sometime in the three days before he died, while he was in that place, his soul ripped apart from his body. It was probably trying to protect itself. Something, very, very traumatic happened in 'the place'. I wish I knew where he was talking about; that's where his soul is. That's what we need. He's an empty corpse without it.

It's been three days since we forced his spirit back into his body, and I have gathered no leads into where his soul has gone.

"Matt, the doctor is here."

I look up to see the Reverend, with the doctor behind him. I sigh and squeeze Jonah's hand gently, the small bones fit into my hand easily. The doctor is a tall, slender man. He's pale, with fluffy tufts of fine red hair. The long, angry red scar that comes from under his hair to the bottom of his chin stands out vividly. He gives me a broad smile.

"H-hello. My name is August, and I promise, we can fix this."

/\/\/\/\/\

August

The condition of the corpse is absolutely terrible. I felt my heart crack and my stomach turn slightly as soon as I saw him. He's stretched out on a gurney, white and still as marble. Matt sits on a stool next to him, leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table while he holds the boys tiny hand in his strong ones. I immediately start the examination, Matt and Popescu silent as I check the body over. There are two rows of small bruises on each leg, each about the size of a thumb. Interlocking the bruises is a pale lavender latticework of bruising covering his legs. His left side is bruised badly, his ribs swollen. I note that his joints are very brittle, seemingly due to frequent breakage. His right hand looks very strange; his stick thin fingers are at on odd angle. I pick up the small hand to find that it is badly fractured; the break runs up his fingers and into his palm. It had to have hurt like hell.

"What does he have?"

The teen answers softly, still cradling the youngers good hand in his two. "Osteogenesis Imperfecta, brittle bone disease. Type four, moderately severe."

"Well that explains a lot! It explains all the bruising on his legs; his braces were strapped too tight. It also accounts for why there are so many broken bones."

The teen swallows visibly. "How broken is he?"

"Well, he has four broken ribs, a broken hand and wrist, as well as a fracture in his collarbone. I swear it's like he's made of porcelain."

"Any other injuries?"

"Severe bruising on the left side, his wrist, and some light bruising on his face. He is also malnourished and extremely dehydrated. May I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"I have to say, some of these injuries look like child abuse."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Reverend merely bowed his head, leaving me to explain. I cleared my throat and began.

"Well, right now I am reading about his last few days; I have reason to believe his dad may have locked him up in some sort of cage for three days. And he was known for being abusive."

A grim shadow passed over the doctor's face. "So something happened in that cage to cause his soul to retreat. We need it back if you wish to reincarnate him."

I know' I just have no idea where this place is!"

The doctor looks at me strangely. "Did he leave any clues? Would anyone know?"

"Mrs. LeFay, but she was just the librarian."

But then it hits me. _Me and Anna are leaving tonight._

"No. Anna, she would know."

/\/\/\/\

Me and Aunt Sara have been at this for hours, going through the boxes the Aickman family left behind. It's really rather upsetting. I'm going through Jonah's baby pictures, acutely aware of his teenaged corpse strapped to a gurney in my basement. There are _so_ many pictures. They all make my heart ache. Old, grainy pictures; Jonah, aged five. He looks two, he's so terribly small. But he has a huge smile, and huge eyes; I know from experience those eyes are like neon. It's so strange to see them shining with laughter, rather than tears. Sara too, seems moved. She's staring blankly at a portrait of Jonah's mom. It's a full body photograph. Eleanor Aickman's smile is small and mischievous, and her hands are curved into a heart shape by the side of her face. She winks at the camera. Her tiny body rests heavily in her spindly wheelchair, the wheels eerily large. Her hair is long, and soft and straight, and her eyes seem too big for her face. The back of the photo says:

For Jonah, my heavenly son and Ramsey, the love of my life. See you all soon. Love, Eleanor.

It's dated three months before her death. Aunt Sara's just staring at her, her eyes cold and hard. I reach over and gently take her hand. She starts, and gives me a watery smile.

"I found a journal from her."

I wrinkle my eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

She hands me a book. The cover is a soft yellow, and smells faintly of lilies. I open it to read:

_My babies name is Jonah. He weighed 4 pounds, five ounces when he was born. At the time, I wanted nothing more to love him. But now, I want only for him to live. He is seven now, and I am getting weaker. I'm seeing things. I'm scared for him. It's painfully obvious he has my disease now. He's pitifully tiny, and he got his first pair of braces a year ago. It hurts so much, he wails in pain. The sound makes me want to rip out my heart. He looks a lot like his father. Ramsey says he looks like me, but he looks a lot like him too. He's got his smile; it's a huge smile, way too big and it shows many teeth. He's got his hair, his manner of speaking. He has my hands and face, and my eyes. And my disease. _

_God love him, he burns like the sun._

A chill goes up my spine. Why would she say that? He burns like the sun? Not shine, but burn. Suddenly the basement door slams, and I must admit it scared the hell out of me. Matt is there, he looks haunted.

Sara speaks. "How bad is it?"

Matt flinches. His voice sounds like gravel and smoke. "He. He is not okay. It's like we thought; it's mostly abuse injuries. But there's a lot of trauma to his left side, and we don't know what it's from. Do me a favor and ask August, because I don't want to talk about it."

He roots around in our junk drawer, pulling out a flashlight, a spade, and a camera. He grabs his military issue messenger bag of the table, dumping it all in there along with an apple and Jonah's journal. He stares at all the boxes for a second, before proceeding to yank out stuff. A painting of a redhead, some candles we found in the mortuary, and Jonah's handkerchief. The handkerchief reeked of sage and coffee, and Matt took a big whiff before shoving it in his bag.

"Where are you going?" he glanced at his mom, leaning in to kiss her cheek. He paused, and then kissed mine too. That's rather out of character.

"Just going to explore."

Dahlia looks up from her book, and smiles wryly. She flips through the book and pulls out some paper, and hands it to Matt. He looks at her curiously.

"What's this?"

"It's a map of Peirce Creek. Jonah had it in this book, I'm assuming so it didn't get lost. Or maybe he gave it to Mrs. LeFay, I don't know. The Teller's house is right next to where the creek drops off into a pond."

She roots around in her purse, procuring her cigarettes and lighter. She sticks them in Matt's bag. His voice turns to granite.

"Love you."

She smiles, and leans up to kiss him.

"Love you too."

/\/\/\/\

The forest on the Aickman (now our) property is huge. It's obvious that the need for a map is relevant. The map is landmarked with odd things, such as a tree with only on branch and a stone statue of a soldier that's missing its head. Its summer and the air is thick and warm, alive with the sounds of the forest. My chucks crunch twigs and rocks beneath them. I can practically hear Anna's peals of laughter ringing through the forest, the soft creaking of Jonah's metal braces.

"**Wait for me, wait for me!"**

The voice seems so real, and I whip around, tripping on a branch and falling flat on my ass. Her laughter's is too loud, too brash.

"**Oh Jonah my love, how I wish you could just sprout wings to fly with me."**

I get up shakily, my vision swimming a bit. These hallucinations come to me so often now, it's scary. I keep walking, following the narrow creek until it widens out, and eventually dropping off into a perfectly circular pond. A few feet from the end of the creek is a thrown together shack, almost a lean-to of tar and wood. It has one small, stained glass window in the side. S

Something seems off. I suddenly realize that all sound has stopped. There are no birds. There is no rustling of leaves, no insects buzzing dead silence. I feel the wind, but the pond is still. And now that I look at it, it is perfectly circular. There is no movement. I walk slowly to the shack, my mind screaming warning but my heart saying go. The old wood door creaks loudly, deafening in the unnatural silence. The inside of the shack is sparse, just a wood oven, cot, table, and chair. There's one cabinet on the wall, and one washbasin. There are no mirrors. But what catches my eye is beyond description. The stained glass window sends dapples of colorful light over the bones, making them glisten eerily. They are the same white of the thick white hair still attached to the skull, and the empty sockets are black with age. A charm hangs around her neck, a ring on her finger.

I never expected to find Teller.

Her ginning skull is smashed in, the back of it shattered. But yet her face remains. And so does the question: who murdered Teller? I back out of the shack, completely cold and in shock. The bodies are starting to pile up. These broken, mangled corpses, lost in history and yet still here. I shiver. God is it cold, and what is this roaring in my head, like the hollow sound of screaming?

I suddenly realize its cold. There's snow on the ground. I can see my breath. Something flashes in the sun, in front of me, but I can't focus. I'm falling into the bond below, my foot hits the edge and I go down, smashing through the thin ice of the pond. My chest seizes up, I can't breathe, and everything hurts. I open my eyes to meet hers. The locket shines cold and beautiful against her porcelain neck, and her rusty hair floats around me, surrounding and choking me.

I never expected to find Anna. And the bodies are piling up.

/\/\/\/\

Hello everyone~! Really, I have no exscuse for why this took so long to update. I've got the worst writers block EVER! It's terrible! I'm so sorry about this, I'm hoping to get this story back on track.

As always, thank you SO much to everyone who's reviewing, I really couldn't keep this up without you all. Thanks bunches to Kira and Dom, for being awesome.

As always, read and review, tell me what you think. Bonus chapter of your choice if you can tell me the song reference.


	14. Chapter 14: Love

Monochrome Chapter 13: Love

_I can't breathe. Oh God, I can't breathe._

The icy water is in my lungs, my throat, my nose. I can't fucking breathe. My chest hurts; my head is a blinding ball of pain. I'm flailing, kicking up, but my foots caught in something. I open my mouth to scream, sending bubbles up. I look down, and I draw a mind numbing blank.

_My foot is caught in someone's ribs._

Her skull is level with my head; I'm staring right into her pitch black sockets. The locket shines dully in the murky water, right between her clavicles. Her hair is the color of rust. With a swift jerk, I break free. Her rib snaps and I push upward; I gasp as my head breaks the water, hacking and coughing. I pull myself up to lay beside the pond, resting in the soft grass. Well, I found Anna and Teller. Jonah never mentioned their fates in his journal; he hadn't known they had been murdered. This explains why Anna never came for him. But who in the hell would have murdered them? The sun beats down on me, slow and burning. What the hell had happened? One minute, it's a clear summer day; the next I fall into an ice covered pond.

Wait…..did I really fall? I didn't trip, I just remember seeing a flash of something, and pressure on my chest as I fell back. Almost as if someone had pushed me. But who? I groan loudly in frustration and haul myself up, sopping wet and not amused. If I squint really hard into the murky depths of the pond, I can just barely make out the glitter of Anna's locket. I know that necklace is important; Jonah mentions it a lot in the journal. But I didn't expect Anna to still be wearing it. Dammit, I need that locket. Gingerly, I slip my hand into the water. Immediately I feel her hair wrap around my hand. I try not to gag as I pull her up by her sockets. She's wearing a green velvet dress, and her hair is still intact. The locket shines in the afternoon sun. I slide it over her skull, and stare solemnly at her face. This was the girl Jonah loved. They were going to run away together. They were two oddities, rare and strange, and they loved each other all the more for it. Now she's just waterlogged bones, an eaten through dress and hair like straw. Her sockets are dark and bottomless. If I remember correctly, she has black eyes. Her hair has lost its copper luster.

"When we found Jonah's body, he was nothing but ash and a few bone fragments. His pretty blue eyes got burned up. Did you know that? He died in a fire, burned alive in a furnace. His ghost was a burned corpse. I don't think he knows you were murdered, that you drowned. He really loved you."

Oh God, now I'm talking to corpses. Well I talk to Jonah all the time, what's the difference? I let her body sink back down to the bottom of the pond, to lie in its mud tomb. The locket seems strangely warm in my hand. This is the first time I've ever actually seen it. Even over decades underwater, it still smells of sage and coffee. For some reason, my head hurts. The sun is too bright, it's too hot. My knees give out and I crash to the muddy bank. The grass is soft against my cheek as my eyes fall shut. There's a hand on my shoulder and hair on my face. Her voice sounds like wind chimes.

"Why are you crying?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dahlia stares with blank eyes at the small box in front of her. Her eyes are burning, toxic, electric green. They are wired but yet seem to not see anything. Her small frame rocks back and forth, shivering and distraught at the scene she is witnessing.

**The old man groans, the sound is rich and dark like chocolate. He tugs his greying hair and pushes his coke-bottle glasses further up his nose. He has a headache from all the screaming, the insane ramblings of the deranged. He rises from his chair and stalks to the kitchen, throwing open the hutch. He growls and bangs his fist on the wood hard. All the vodka's gone; it explains why he seems more desperate than usual. The gaunt figure of the man ascends the stars, slow and calm. The pleading cries and laughter grows louder as he approaches.**

"**What are you?! Leave me ALONE! All of you just leave!"**

**The voice descends into sob; this is the moment the man opens the door. The boy sits in the middle of the floor, curled in a ball and wailing like a damn siren. His room is a mess; sitting next to him is an empty bottle, a half empty one in his hand. His black hair sticks up and his neon eyes are crazed, thick with desperation, alcohol, and pure terror. He turns to face the man and wails.**

"**Make them go away! Make them go AWAY!"**

**The last part is screamed; the boy takes another huge gulp from the bottle before chucking it at a wall. He's aiming at things only he can see. Ghosts, spirits, demons. You name it, they're here. They are drawn to the wonderfully pure, tragically fragile medium. The boy cries as the shattering glass does little but cut him; his tormentors are still there. His tears make soft plinking sounds on the wood floor.**

"**When did you start drinking, son?"**

**The boy lets loose a shrill, reedy laugh; it's terribly high and sends shivers through the old man's frame.**

"**That was my first ever. You seem so fucking dependent on it I thought maybe it'd help. Instead it just made shit blurry and made it harder to fight back."**

**Suddenly he screams, and I see two hand impressions on his shoulders. The ghosts are touching him, and the shards of his sanity litter the floor. His screams grow louder as the man draws closer; suddenly he pulls the tiny boy into his chest. He's too far gone to hear the snap of a glove, or the **_**tink**_** sound of the syringe. He gives a soft, low cry as he needle pierces his skin; he hums tunelessly and his head tilts back as the plunger does its job. He lets out a long breath and a small cooing noise as the drug reaches full effect. A breathtaking smile lights up his face as he opens his mouth to speak. His voice is a croak, the words slurred.**

"**Oh, God."**

**The old man chuckles softly and caresses the boy's face, pushing his bangs aside to kiss his forehead.**

"**Oh my dear boy, God isn't here. At least, not for you."**

The box falls to the floor from numb hands; the teen gets up and trudges up the stairs. She goes into the bathroom; her knees hit the blinding tile as she kneels. She dry heaves; over, and over, and over. Five, six, ten, twelve. The tracks in the inside of her elbows stand out like white cords; and for the first time in years, she hates herself. She had been so young, so naïve. The acrid taste lingers in her soul, burnt and burning. She had thought herself infinite, but then she had crashed. She's been clean for four years, but sometimes she misses it. She tries so hard to ignore the dark shadow standing over her, the chip on her shoulder. If it wasn't for _her_….

After all, a parent is God in the eyes of a child.

**/\/\/\/\**

Popescu

"Matt? Matt?"

"Matt, where are you?"

Me and the Campbell's are searching everywhere for him, it's been five hours and he hasn't come home. He's nowhere in the house, he's not at the library, store, park, or the bar. We are now back at the house, hopelessly pleading he's okay. There's a sudden rustle and he breaks free of the trees. He's soaking wet, face grim and pale. Something shiny dangles from his right hand. As he comes closer, he starts to talk.

"Reverend. Get Dr. August ready, along with all the equipment. Mom and Wendy, would you mind dredging up some of my old clothes for Jonah to wear? Remember, he is positively tiny. Dahlia, get together some of his favorite things and set up a temporary room, preferably in the bird room. Dad, make some coffee and food, it's going to be a long night."

I am the first to speak.

"Matt, what's going on?"

"I found what we're missing. His soul is in the house somewhere, and now we can find it. We are bringing him back tonight, Reverend."

/\/\/\/\

Everyone is working. August has set up the mortuary as the place he will be reincarnated. Jonah's body is hooked up to a heart monitor; his ashes have been placed nearby. Right now the poor doctor is praying.

Dahlia has set up Jonah's room with some of his possessions. The bed has been covered in his quilt, along with his stuffed cat. His favorite books and his journal rest on the table next to the bed. His violin rests on the chest at the foot of the bed, a few of his paintings on the wall.

Wendy and Sara have sifted through all of Matt's old clothes, his cancer clothes. They are smaller, but still much too big. They ended up settling on an old baggy sweatshirt and a pair of gym shorts, mindful of the many bruises littering the teen's body.

Matt is staring through the open window, clutching a cup of coffee and Jonah's handkerchief. The fabric is pressed to his face, and Matt's lips move silently. The locket is around his neck.

I myself am preparing to bring a soul back from the dead.

Everything is ready.

"Matt, we are ready."

He glances up briefly, and in his eyes I see the cancer ridden boy I took under my wing. He's changed so much in the past two years. The shadow of death had left him completely, but in him I see an emptiness that wasn't there when he had cancer. That emptiness is the absence of Jonah. Their souls were so irrevocably intertwined during his stay here that his absence leaves a tangible mark on Matt's soul.

"Matt, what are we doing? How is this going to work; do you know where his soul is?"

"Yes. I was waiting for everything to be ready, because once we get his spirit there's no time to waste. Follow me, I can feel him."

He turns to walk to the basement, his hand closed around the locket. It's glowing a faint blue, and gets a little brighter as he starts walking down the stairs. It's leading him right to him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Matt

The locket throbs dully in my hand; it grows hotter as I near the bottom of the steps and floor of the mortuary. Most everyone is down here, including Dr. August and my dad. I walk further into the room, the locket growing more frantic. I go left, towards the mortuary, and the locket actually cools down. If his soul isn't there, where else would it be? I get flashes, vague ones, and turn to the small patch of wall by the stairs. The locket sears, and I let out a low hiss and drop it, my hand blistering. I walk over to the wall, the bricks are rough and broken under my hand, and the bricks here are a different color from the rest of the walls in the basement. A low, dull hum seems to run through them

With the slow, careful hesitance that comes with too much experience with illness, I press my ear to the old brick, and the goose bumps that shake my spine at the sound of his soft, wailing cries will haunt me forever.

The fabric of my soul shudders as I'm sent back to the past for the first time since we freed the house. The walls shake and groan, and my vision blurs as his cries get louder, Aickman plodding down the stairs cursing as the bundle in his grasp wiggles free and tumbles down to lay in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

**The old man heaves a loud sigh and a few choice words as the boy's body comes to rest in a jumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs.**

"**Dammit boy, that's what you get for wriggling around so much."**

**The boy gives a muffled groan in reply, and Aickman merely laughs and gathers him up from the dirty floor to carry him to the ashen door under the stairs. He flings it open, the door groaning anciently. The walls and floor are hard packed dirt, and its pitch black inside. There are no windows; the air is musty with dust and decay. In the middle of the tiny room a small, gilded cage hangs from the ceiling, a tiny door in the side secured with a heavy padlock. The boy fights weakly as he's pushed inside, the padlock clanging loud as it's locked, the key tucked back inside the old man's shirt. As he's walking away, his hand on the door, his boy makes a soft sound. The man turns to see his soft blue eyes, so much like his mothers, looking at him. He gives a tiny smile, his face black and blue.**

"**I love you daddy."**

**The old man gives an answering smile, identical to his sons.**

"**I love you too my boy."**

**It's only after the door shuts that Jonah lets go.**

**It's dark as hell and the boy is shaking. It's freezing in his dank prison, his loud gasps of fear echo through the small space. The spirits are everywhere; before him, beside him, inside him. His screams meld in to one, he can't tell the living from the dead anymore, and he thinks frantically:**

"**Am I dead? I should be. Am I? I don't know, they are. Or maybe… maybe they're the living ones, and I'm the only dead one."**

**He screams, breaking his fingers on the cold bars and crying loudly. He doesn't know how long he's been in there. It could have been an hour, a day, a year. The pain is a presence, the fear his God as he breaks over and over.**

**He doesn't even register the door opening.**

**The old man is silhouetted in pale yellow light, a blanket tossed over his shoulder and his glasses flashing white. He sighs at the state of the boy, blood drips slowly from the cage. The small white frame shakes terribly, his eyes wide open and staring into nothing. He's covered in self-inflicted bruises and scratches, and his fingers are tore from prying at the lock. He's bathed in filth.**

"**Now just look at you."**

**The boy flinches and whines like an animal, scrambling to cower in the cage as far from his father as possible. Those three days might as well have been three years. He shakes harder as the man approaches, the lock hitting the dirt floor with a dull thud. The man reaches for the boy, but the boy just cowers away, crying softly. The man heaves a sigh.**

"**Come now, don't you want out of here?"**

**The boy just stares at him, his eyes big and empty.**

**Aickman yanks him out of the cage, bundling his filthy body in the blanket. Jonah stares with a vacant gaze as they ascend the stairs, the living room all ready for the séance. An hour, a bowl of soup and a bath are all that lies between now and the séance. He wishes Anna will come. He doesn't know she died just two hours before, pushed in a pond and drowned after her guardian was bludgeoned to death on the floor of their house.**

**He doesn't truly realize that tonight he will burn, or that his soul already died in that tiny cage.**

Matt is yanked back to the present by the harsh sound of brick breaking, staring at his dad in shock as he pounds away with the sledge hammer, the ancient door being unearthed. 3 minutes later the bricks are down and the door is open. The now rusty cage is dull and dead in the light filtering in from the basement, but the soul inside shines a brilliant blue, raw and blinding. It cries softly, and a pile of blue crystals lie under the cage. 60 decades worth of glass tears. His fingers are shattered and so is his humanity, this tiny shaking emotion in its pure state. This bundle of fear and anguish, of decay and empty promises is the fabric of Jonah's soul. It looks at them with eyes so full of power, everyone flinches. Its glass arm reaches through the bars of his cage, skinny and weak, broken. Matt gives the opaque hand, a small, gentle squeeze.

"**You found me."**

"I looked forever. Never leave again. Stay with me."

"**Through hell and high water, my friend."**

/\/\/\/\

The small, pale corpse is surrounded by people. Matt, Sara, Wendy, Dahlia, Peter, Doctor August, and Reverend Popescu. Sara and Peter hold hands, Wendy and Dahlia exchange identical looks of understanding before Dahlia goes to stand beside Matt. The Doctor looks nervous while the Reverend holds a worn, beat up Bible. Matt holds a pale blue entity close to him, staring impassively at the beat up body on the gurney.

"Now, will everyone join hands?"

They form a circle around the makeshift shrine.

"Observe this circle of seven souls, Lord, these people all with hopes and dreams, with fears and fates. This boy has had his stripped from him, and we wish to restore his life so that his presence and purpose will exist once more."

The air around them gives a soft a soft ripple, and the candles go out.

"Matt, the locket please."

Matt steps forward and pries the locket from the entities grasp, placing it gently around the corpses neck where it gleams softly, resting where it should have been all these years.

"Lord, grant me strength and bless this endeavor."

With that, the Reverend began chanting. The lights flickered out, and a soft rustling was heard. It was the shifting if Jonah's ashes, they swirled in an invisible wind, scattering over his body. The empty, white eyes opened and his mouth gaped, a hollow rattle escaping the corpse, as the Reverend grew louder.

"Accept his soul Lord, make him one!"

And that's when it truly began.

Jonah's soul gave a soft yelp as he was yanked violently from Matt's arms, hovering terrified over his own body before falling with a crack, the blue disappearing into the body. The mouth snapped shut and the eyes closed, but nothing else seemed to happen. The onlookers gaped in confusion. The room was pitch dark. Then, little zings of neon blue light flashed over the pale skin, cracked through the air like lightning. The body started to shake and jerk, the head whipping from side to side.

Matt stepped forward, his voice small and pitched.

"Reverend, what's happening?"

The Reverend did not open.

The corpses eyes flashed open, and had been replaced with solid blue beams of light, shining through. The light shined through the eyes, the mouth, the nose, the bruises. He screamed a loud deafening scream, and the Reverend began to chant again. The ghost gave a particularly loud roar, thrashing wildly before Jonah's voice rang clear as day:

**Make it stop, make it stop!**

The ghost screamed in pain once more, before all the blue light suddenly guttered out. Someone had the sense to flip the light switch. Everyone in the room gasped loudly, necks craned out and eyes wide as they stared at the ceiling, the gurney now empty. Jonah's body hangs suspended in the air, ectoplasm dripping slowly as the house groans and stretches. Jonah gives one rattling gasp, and then crashes back down to the gurney. He starts to cough, and the heartbeat monitor attached to him beeps steadily. The blue eyes open weakly, and his chest rises in falls as he breathes once again.

He gives a breathtaking smile, much too big for his face, and he looks up at Matt. The room seems frozen, staring at this boy alive and vital. He reaches up to touch his face, and the monitor stutters. Jonah's face crinkles as he gasps, his heart speeding up and stuttering. Everyone in the room slowly unfreezes, and Matt grabs his hand and smacks his chest hard.

"Stay with me! Fuck, stay with me!"

Jonah chuckles, gasping again as his heart skips a beat, then another. His voice is strong and dark, and Wendy realizes with a start how much his voice resembles his fathers, though it possesses warmth Aickman's never had.

"Through hell and high water, my friend."

The monitor flat lines, and Matt's heart stops with it. August starts to count.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Sara starts to cry, and turns to hug her husband of seventeen hard years. Wendy clenches her fists, biting her lip till it bleeds. Dahlia gives a sad smile, her eyes burning. The Reverends head is in his hands, the bitter taste of failure making his chest tight. Matt shakes hard, his face pressed into Jonah's bony side, his hand clenched in his. His hearing has fallen into one high pitched whine, loud and as constant as the monitor. It doesn't register to him when Sara suddenly gasps, when Wendy laughs and Dahlia gives a loud whoop, or when the Reverend gasps in relief as the monitor picks up again. His doesn't register the strong, constant beeping of the monitor. What finally registers is Jonah's thick, velvety voice, dark and slow as molasses with an ancient feel to it.

"What…what are you crying for?"

He felt the fragile ribs under his cheek rise and expand as Jonah breathes his hand warm as he squeezed Matt's. Matt looked up into Jonah's face, adorned with a mischievous little smirk.

"Now really, I don't die easy."

Matt gave a broken, wild laugh, throwing his arms around the weak, reborn medium, only to reel back in disgust.

"Ugh! You are freaking _covered_ in ectoplasm."

Jonah laughed, and the candles fluttered back to life.


End file.
